


Houseless

by hobo_ing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Dark Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Remus Lupin Lives, Self-Harm, Severus Snape Lives, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 02:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobo_ing/pseuds/hobo_ing
Summary: It has been over a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is finally up and running again. It has opened its doors to twice as many first-years (due to being closed for a year) and to all returning seventh- and eighth-year students.Remus Lupin and Severus Snape have both survived the war, and return to Hogwarts as professors of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions. But the others have been lost, leaving Remus to raise his son alone and Severus to face the backlash of a life as a spy.But the truly strange thing is that no one has seen Harry Potter in over a year, not since the last of the Death Eater trials. Not since the trials of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy. Even stranger are the rumors surrounding his break-up with Ginny Weasley, and his apparent disappearance.Will Harry Potter return to Hogwarts? No one knows, not even the know-it-all Hermione Granger knows, as she hasn’t seen or heard from him either. No one has. And it seems no one but Draco Malfoy really wants him to.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 233





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Harry Potter fic! I apologize for nothing. Enjoy the ride, an update schedule has yet to be determined.

Draco stood proud on the platform of 9 ¾, his Head Boy badge glinting brightly in the sun where is sat pinned on his school robes. It had been over a year since his trial as a Death Eater, and by the grace of Merlin (and one Gryffindor), he found himself acquitted of all charges – as were his parents. The road after the war hadn’t been easy by any means, but the Malfoys worked hard to raise their status again – but with new goals in mind. They donated time and money to the rebuilding of Hogwarts and the Ministry, offering assistance wherever assistance was needed. This had not gone unnoticed, and most of the wizarding world was now well aware that without the Malfoy family, the return to normalcy and peace would have taken a lot longer than a year.

He searched the crowd, looking for a small, thin boy with unruly black hair, round spectacles, and green gems for eyes. He looked and he looked, and soon he was the last one on the platform.

Harry Potter did not board the Hogwarts Express.

He rushed to hop onto the train, and quickly met up with the other prefects and Head Girl in the front compartment. He was the last one to arrive, and the Head Girl – one despicable Hermione Granger – gave him a death glare. Despite his family being cleared, and proving their worth over the last year, Granger and Weasley (also a prefect) could not seem to drop the grudge. He decided to let them do whatever they wanted. He would not let it bother him.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Malfoy.” Hermione sneered, causing Weasel to snigger.

“Please,” Draco said, holding up a hand to stop her. “Call me Draco. We are all Prefects and Head Boy or Girl in here, I see no reason to call each other by surname. It is an old-fashioned tool to look down on others, and I don’t know about all of you, but I am quite finished with that nonsense.” All the prefects nodded, agreeing with Draco. Only Hermione and Ron seemed reluctant.

“Very well, _Draco_. Care to explain why you were so late to the first meeting of the year?” Again, Hermione glared at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Draco simply waived his hand.

“I wanted to make sure there were no stragglers on the platform. Especially the littler ones. They aren’t fast enough or strong enough to catch up to the train if it starts moving before they are on it. I am, and I wanted to make sure everyone made it. That’s all.” It was a half-truth, really. But if he really thought about it, Harry Potter could be considered one of the “littler ones” with how small he had been throughout their school years. Hermione glared again, unable to find an adequate retort to his reasoning without coming off as a complete bitch.

“Fine then. Just don’t make it a habit to be late in the future.” She conceded before launching into the rest of the briefing. Once done, they were sent on their ways to make rounds, and Draco volunteered to go to the back of the train – the others didn’t want to take it as the more… surly and uncooperative students tended to take the back compartments. Draco didn’t mind – in fact he knew plenty of the older Slytherins would be holed up back there, as not all their reputations had been saved after the war like his was. He didn’t miss the irony that the only student who took the mark was the first one society accepted again.

He did indeed find his friends in one of the last compartments, Blaise, Greg, Theodore, Millicent, and Pansy were all sitting and having a quiet conversation, ignoring the sixth occupant of the carriage. Draco noticed the man immediately, and pointed to him, mouthing _Who is that?_ To his friends. They all shrugged.

“Dunno.” Greg said. “Bloke’s been sittin’ there since before we got on, and he’s been asleep the whole time. Doesn’t even have a trunk or nothin’.” Draco sighed. He did prefer knowing who he was sitting with, you know, because it was _polite_.

“I suppose there is nothing we can do about it. Budge over you oafs.” He said, and Greg and Blaise shifted closer to the mysterious man wrapped up in his cloak. Draco sat and couldn’t help but smile. He was going back to Hogwarts, and all of his friends were too. Maybe, just maybe, they would all get to be the kids they should have been the whole time. He felt a pang of grief, thinking of how Vincent was gone now, but he wouldn’t let it stop him from moving forward.

* * *

Once the train stopped at Hogwarts, Draco helped herd first years towards the boats, as there were twice as many this year and even Hagrid would struggle to get all of their attention.

“Hullo, Hagrid.” Draco greeted as he approached with a scared, brunet girl.

“Why, ‘ello there Malfoy. Who do we have ‘ere?” Hagrid greeting back, without any sarcasm or bitterness. The half giant squatted down so he was eye-level with the first-year.

“It’s okay, Penelope. This is Hagrid, our game keeper and professor for Care of Magical Creatures. He’s big, but gentle. He’ll take care of you.” Draco flashed her a warm smile before letting go of her hand. “Go on, introduce yourself.”

“I…uhm. I’m Penelope. Penelope Edgewater.” She said, nervously. Hagrid grinned.

“Nice ta meet you, Penelope. Names Hagrid. How ‘bout we get you in that boat over there with them nice girls, I’m sure you all will get along alright.” She nodded and he stood up, offering his hand. She took it, and allowed him to lead her over to the boat where he introduced her to two equally nervous looking girls. Satisfied of a job well-done, he jogged to the carriages where he caught the last one. The scene was eerily similar, as everyone from his train compartment (including the mysterious stranger, who was once again hidden under his cloak) was there. 

They made it to the castle in one piece, and watched as the first years got sorted. Looks like Penelope Edgewater was Hufflepuff. Good, the house was warm and friendly and would help her become her own person outside of her nervousness in no time. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was about to put the Sorting Hat away when he started speaking again.

“Not yet, Headmistress.” Said the hat. “We have one more who needs to be placed tonight. A person who must be re-sorted.”

“Re-sorted?” The elderly witch asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“There is precedent, Headmistress. It is not common, for it is not often needed. But it is needed now. May I proceed?” The hat asked, his voice dripping with sassiness. Draco quite liked the Sorting Hat.

“You may.” She replied dryly.

“I call one Lord Harry James Potter-Black to come up to be resorted.”

The great hall erupted immediately afterwards.

“Lord?”

“Potter-Black?”

“Did anyone know he was coming?”

“I though he was committed to St. Mungo’s?”

“Where the hell has he been this whole time?”

And one loud Weasel proclaiming, “At least his being resorted! Thank Merlin that fucker won’t be in our house anymore!” A cheer resounded from the Gryffindor table. Draco frowned. He had heard rumors about Potter… about _Potter-Black. _But he didn’t think the rumors – even if true – warranted the hatred coming from the Gryffindors. Although, they were Gryffindors. Not always the thinking, rational type.

Suddenly, silence overtook the noise as a man slowly walked down the aisle. Students shivered as he walked by, the air around him was noticeably colder. Draco eyed him, suddenly realizing that the man walking down the aisle was the same mysterious man who he had shared a compartment and carriage with. He looked at Blaise, the other boy was also flabbergasted. The man wore stiff, black robes – rivaling Severus Snape’s severe wardrobe. His hair was let down, allowing the long, black, shaggy locks to fall as they pleased down his back and around his face. A look at McGonagall told Draco all he needed to know about the face of the mysterious man. She was in shock, rendered speechless. As was the rest of the head table. Even Severus was in a state of surprise. The man turned to sit on the stool, under the hat, and the hall made a collective gasp.

The tall, broad stranger dressed in black with hair that rivaled Sirius Black’s, was none other that Harry Potter. Correction, Harry Potter-Black. Lord Harry James Potter-Black. His glasses were gone, but his eyes were as green as ever. His lightening bolt scar was now silvery instead of red, but seemed longer and larger than before, and it continued down through his eyebrow, eyelid, and cheek. He had another scar on the opposite side, near his lip. Almost looked like a knife cut. Draco stared, awed and also terrified. Awed before the boy that had truly become a man, and he had changed drastically in the process.

But terrified because of the look in his eyes. He knew that look. Draco had the same eyes back in his sixth-year. Dull eyes, empty. Lost. Void of anything but despair because there was no hope.

* * *

“Well, Lord Potter-Black, we meet again.” The Sorting Hat said, out loud this time – unlike Harry’s first sorting. It seemed this was going to be a public one. Not even the Sorting Hat would give him privacy anymore.

“I told you in the beginning that you would have done well in Slytherin, but you insisted on Gryffindor. Hmm, I wonder how you feel about that now? It may have won you the war, boy, but what did it cost you?” The hat grew silent and the hall stared, enraptured, waiting, clinging onto every word. Harry didn’t say a word, he simply closed his eyes.

“I suppose none of it matters now. What has been done is done, and turning back time is not an option. But I have to think of the future, of the school, of the students. It is my duty, you see. And you, you do not belong anymore, Lord Potter-Black. The castle is no longer your home, she no longer welcomes you. Yet you are here, so she will accept you. She will still permit you.” Harry still said nothing at this, he kept his eyes closed despite the new hole that was being torn into what remained of his heart.

“Hogwarts does not need you, anymore. And you do not need Hogwarts, truthfully. We do not know why you are here. Yet here you are, so we must do something with you.

The Houses are all different, yet the same. All have a degree of loyalty, some kind of signature wit, skill or intelligence in their own right, bravery in the strangest of places. You have all of those, yet none of what they desire.

In Gryffindor, Honesty is second only to Bravery which walks side-by-side with Honor.

In Hufflepuff, Kindness is second only to Loyalty, which walks side-by-side with Dedication.

In Ravenclaw, Competition is second only to Intelligence, which walks side-by-side with Creativity.

In Slytherin, Fraternity is second only to Ambition, which walks side-by-side with Cunning.

You are all. Yet you are none, Harry James Potter-Black.

Therefore, I decree you to be Houseless.”

The hall remained in silent shock as Harry stood, taking off the hat and setting it on the chair. Even Professor Lupin, back to teach DADA, had a look of shock mixed in with blatant loathing. Loathing he held for Harry. Harry could feel the werewolf’s stare, could feel the animosity rolling off of him. But he had felt it before, coming from those closer to his heart than even the only man alive who had been close to his own father.

Minerva was the first to recover, waving her want to bring the feast to fruition. She looked at Harry, disdainfully. Even his old head of house no longer liked him, no longer even tolerated his existence. Harry ignored her, walking to the back of the room to lean against a wall until the feast was finished. He knew it wasn’t worth trying to sit with any of the houses in hopes of enjoying the food himself. He closed his eyes, battling his emotions and beating them down until he could feel them no more. He was getting better at that, he almost never felt anything anymore.

Just as it should be and would continue to be.

* * *

Harry missed the way Snape was watching him as the feast progressed, missed how the potions master’s eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of concern and annoyance. The boy had survived a war he should have died in, then he ran away from the world. Only to return, looking like a younger, more powerful Sirius Black with Lily’s eyes. With more scars, both inside and out. Snape had seen his eyes, seen that brilliant shade of green that reminded everyone of Lily. But they now lacked the spark, the _life_ that Lily had always had. That Harry used to have. Looking into his eyes now was like looking into death.

Minerva called the feast to an end, asking all to leave except the heads of house and the returning eighth-years. When they assembled, she briefed them on how they had their own tower, with their own common room separate from their respective houses but they were allowed to return to the common rooms of their houses ay any time. The _Except you, Harry _was unspoken, but implied. Still, he did not react.

“Now, as far as have a teacher-supervisor, we decided it would be best to allow you all options. You may choose from any of the heads of house, or myself, as your teacher supervisor. As such, we will be the ones in charge of your discipline and mentoring. Understood? Good. Now, we’ll go around and see who wants who, shall we?”

Of course, all the Ravenclaws stuck with Flitwick, the Hufflepuffs with Sprout, and the Gryffindors split in half between McGonagall and Lupin (Hermione chose McGonagall and Ron chose Lupin), except for Neville who chose Sprout. Then came Harry.

“Well, Mister Potter?” The Headmistress trilled. Harry leveled her with a _look_, causing all of them to shudder.

“My apologies, Headmistress McGonagall, but that is neither my name nor title. You may call me Lord Harry Potter-Black, or Lord Potter-Black. But I will not respond to either _Mister_ or _Harry_. As mister is not my title, and Harry is reserved for close friends and family – and since I have none of those, you are not included.”

“Well, _excuse me_,” she huffed. “But you are a student here, and thus will be treated as such. All the other students are called _mister _and _miss_ and you don’t see them throwing snits about it.”

“_They_,” he practically growled, “have not come into their lordships and ladyships because their _parents_ still hold them. Mine are dead, as is my godfather, whom I inherited my second lordship from. You are called Headmistress McGonagall because you are the headmistress. The professors are called professors because that is what they are. I demand and deserve the same respect. I am a Lord, and therefor should be addressed as one. Are we clear?”

McGonagall glared at him, but finally gave him a curt nod. “Very well, _Lord_ Potter-Black. Now, please enlighten who you have chosen to be your teacher-supervisor.”

Harry eyed them one by one. They all hated him, even Sprout and Flitwick. He let out a resigned sigh. “I suppose it will have to be Professor Snape, Headmistress.”

Snape lifted and eyebrow, curious. “Why me, Potter-Black?” Harry sneered at him, but allowed him to go without the honorific. The man had at least earned the right to do that with how much he did in the war.

“Everyone here hates me. But its all fresh. You’ve always hated me, therefor it isn’t at the forefront of your mind. You hate me because you always have, not because of something new. So, you will treat me as you always have. Even if you have not always been kind or fair to me, it is better treatment than what I can expect from the others. Does that answer your question, Professor Snape?” Harry did not drop the honorific for Snape, though he had done so often before. The man had his respect now, and would probably always will – whether the potions master wanted it or not.

“It does. Now, you and the Slytherins will come with me to the Slytherin common room for the start of term speech. Come along now.” With that, he turned to leave, and his robes billowed as always. Draco wanted to learn how he always did that, and was awed when Harry performed a similar move.

Now that just wasn’t fair. How did Harry learn to billow his robes menacingly before he had?

* * *

The Slytherins were all waiting in the common room when Snape and the eighth-years entered. They all gaped when Harry stepped in after them. Snape quelled all questions with a _look_ and then stood by the fire, motioning to the eighth-years to join the rest of the students. Draco stood next to Harry, as the others were shying away from the ex-Gryffindor. Draco shivered, noting that the air around the other boy was down-right _cold_.

“Now,” Professor Snape began, “the first thing I will tell all of you – especially our new first years – is congratulations on being members of the proud house of Slytherin. All of you are here because you should be – minus you, Potter-Black. You’re here because for whatever deranged reason you chose _me_ to be your baby-sitter over the other professors.” Snape threw a sneer at the boy, who in turn provided no reaction to the way Snape talked to him. Internally Snape quirked an eyebrow. It appears the boy was no longer quick to anger - not like he use to be.

“I am your head of house, not your mother or your nanny.” He continued on. “But you are not alone here. Self-preservation is important, yes. But so is the preservation of your family, of your friends. In Slytherin, we watch each other’s backs, despite what everyone else thinks. We just use cunning and manipulation instead of grand gestures and speeches. Our house needs to show the world what we are made of, we need to rebuild our reputation after the war. We cannot do that if we act like buffoons or throw hexes at those who annoy us. No. We must act with the dignity and pride that Salazar Slytherin himself would expect of us.

That being said, should you find yourself in a position where you need help or advice, do not be so stubborn as to not seek it help. Take advantage of those who can aide you. My office is always open, and your Prefects and Head Boy are here for you as well. Do not hesitate to come to us if you need to. You are not alone, remember that.” Snape ended his speech, evaluating his charges with a warm yet analyzing stare.

Harry surveyed the room, watching as all the Slytherins started to relax. He could sense the way the room shifted from cold and apprehensive, to warm and welcoming. He felt the way the sense of _belonging _in the common room clashed with his own solitude. _The Slytherins may not be alone, but I still am. Aren’t I?_ Harry thought. _But you already know that, Professor. Probably better than anyone else. _It was then that Draco stepped forward, a bag in hand.

“Professor, if I may?” he asked, and Snape nodded. Draco made his way from the back of the group to the front, standing next to the potions master. He rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a silver pin, a snake curved into the letter “S”. He showed it to the other students and started to explain. “Given the current political climate at Hogwarts, and what I have experienced in the last few years, I felt it prudent that we take some measures to protect ourselves. I’ve made pins like this for everyone here, an I ask that everyone wear them wherever they go outside of this common room. They act as both a beacon and a call for help. Tap it three times and say ‘Salazar’, and it will warn myself, the Prefects, and Professor Snape that you are in need of help and will lead us to your location.” Draco paused, grasping the pin and staring at it, trying to form his next words.

“The world is a cruel place, and it can’t be fixed overnight. Not even one year is enough, and there are people here who will provoke you on purpose. Who will try and hurt you – and a lot of that is my own fault for my behavior before the war.” He looked up finally, meeting eyes with his fellow Slytherins. “I just want to keep you all safe, as much as I can. So please, will you wear them?”

It was Blaise who spoke first. “Of course, you great, insufferable prick! Of course, we will wear them.”

Pansy was next. “Oh yes, they are quite fetching. They will match nicely with our robes.”

Even Greg managed to grin and grunt his agreement.

Harry couldn’t help himself; the pins were well made, but they could be _better_. He stepped forward with his right hand held out. “May I, Mister Malfoy?” He asked, looking at the pin. “There is something I wish to try that you all might find advantageous to yourselves.” Draco turned to Snape - eyebrow raised in questioning. Snape nodded his permission. The room was silent as Draco handed Harry the pin. _Since when did Harry start calling me Mister Malfoy? And when did I start thinking of him as Harry?_

Harry grasped the pin and reveled in the way Draco’s magic swirled inside the silver ornament. Draco’s magic was strong, certainly. But it was hot and pure – so different from his own magic. He suppressed a grin - it had been a long time since he had been allowed to feel someone else’s magic like this. He opened his palm to stare at the pin, then he started to speak in parseltongue.

** _My snakes, keep the secrets of those whom wear you and cherish you as a symbol of their house. Should they find themselves in danger, ward them and record all that you see and hear until the Spy or the Dragon come to save your owners. Warn your charges of those who speak ill of them behind their backs, and ensure that no poison touches their lips. Protect your brethren, as Slytherins are snakes as well, and help them find their way._ **

Harry watched as the last tendrils of his magic flared out and finished, then handed back the pin to Draco. “That should do the trick. All the pins will hold your secrets, and will activate a minor ward to shield you from spells, should you be in danger. Additionally, they will record what they see and hear if the owner should find themselves in danger. No one but Professor Snape or Mister Malfoy can extract the recordings. They will protect you from poison, and will warn you of those who speak poorly of you behind your back.”

Draco stared at him, and then stared at the pin. The pins had held a certain warmth to them before, and felt light in his palm. But now they were cold and heavy, as if Harry’s magic weighed them down. He knew then, that these pins would never fade or dull, the magic would never weaken. Whatever Harry’s magic touched would forever change, that was certain.

* * *

Snape walked the his eighth-year charges to their own tower, going over the special set of rules for them. No more curfew, but no spending the night in the other dorms. No underage guests in the tower, and no sleep-overs from those under eighth-year. They did not have to wear their school robes, but casual muggle clothes were not to be worn in class and no distracting or unseemly clothing was allowed either. They would each have their own bedrooms, but bathrooms were to be shared, but housed showers as well as a large bathing area – similar to the Prefects’ bath just not as big. The common room was also to be a shared space, but they had a small kitchen area to store snacks and make coffee or tea. It was a tower, so the rooms were assigned accordingly. Slytherins toward the bottom where it would be more dungeon like, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws towards the top. Hufflepuffs in the middle. The entry way was the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, password was “Lemon Drops”.

Harry glared at the portrait before entering. He hated that man, and probably would for a long time. Perhaps forever. No one would ever understand _why_ Harry hated the deceased headmaster, but no one had done what he did. No one had Albus Dumbledore dictating his life like he was a marionette, a tool useful to win the war. Nothing more, nothing less.

_Fuck. Calm down. Anger has no place here. _Harry reminded himself, taking a deep breath and shelving his anger away with the rest of his emotions. _None of them have a place here, not anymore_.

He stepped into the room, and suddenly the buzz of conversation halted. He looked up to find people he once called friends – some closer to _family_ – staring at him with open hatred and contempt. He chose to not react, keeping his face as blank and empty as his eyes. A quick scan of the room told him that none of the professors had stuck around for this little reunion, leaving him to the wolves. No surprise there. They all hated him now, too.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ron spat, taking a step forward. Harry looked over his ex-best mate, taking in how the red-head had finally grown into his height. He was no longer lanky and awkward, but had filled out and looked like a man – no longer a boy. Harry also noted that Ron hadn’t acquired any new scars since the war. That was good. Meant he was staying out of trouble. He again felt that irritating pain in his chest, but he clamped down on it and threw it away. _No longer need that_. He reminded himself again. He did not let his inner turmoil show, nor did he deign to respond to the angry Gryffindor. He simply stepped by him, choosing to head towards the stairs without comment. Ron growled.

“Take the stairs all the way down, _Lord Potter-Black_.” Hermione called, her voice venom. “You are down at the bottom. Enjoy.” Harry didn’t acknowledge her, but he climbed down three flights of stairs, noting a set of bathrooms on the floor below the common room. But at the bottom, there was only one door. A menacing black door with his last name _Potter-Black_ emblazoned in silver. Inside, he found a windowless room with a black four-poster bed with black bedding and curtains. A black dresser and desk, a black carpet, and the walls were a dull, dark grey. The room was deathly cold, and there was no fireplace.

_Fireplace or not, its does not matter anymore. It is simply a place to sleep, a place in which to contain my nightmares. _

As he completed that thought, Kreacher popped up next to him with a loud crack. “Does Master require anything of Kreacher, my Lord?” The elf asked.

“No, it seems you have already settled my belongings and placed the usual wards. That will be all, for now.” Harry said, and Kreacher bowed before disappearing again.

“I wonder how much of cow Hermione will have when she realizes that I not only willing have a house-elf, but that house-elf is Kreacher, and that Kreacher adores me almost as much as he adored Regulus.” He mused out loud. He almost grinned, but even in private he stopped any kind of emotion from spreading, from showing.

_It isn’t needed anymore._


	2. Expecto Patronum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry speaks with Snape and Draco, and attends his first class of the year – DADA with Professor Lupin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get chapter two up! I’m working on fixing my schedule to get regular updates for this fic, and my other fic (Prince Omega). I also have a Twitter for my AO3 account, my handle is @Hobo_ing. I will post there when I have updates, or if I have anything else to tell you guys.  
Again, thank you for reading this fic and supporting me!

Harry woke the next morning, cold. Freezing, actually. His room was several levels below the main castle floor, made of stone with no windows and no fireplace.

But Harry was used to the cold. Waking with numb fingers and ice for skin was the norm. So, as usual he rose quickly, casting a quick tempus spell to check the time. It was early, much earlier than anyone else was likely to be up - especially the other boys in the eighth-year dorms. Which meant he could take a quick shower without being bothered. He grabbed his toiletries and a thick, black, fuzzy bathrobe before heading out of his room and up the stairs to the communal men's bath.

Harry took a hot shower, probably too hot by most people's standard, but he wasn't most people. A boiling hot shower was one of the only ways he could feel even a whisper of warmth now. He dried himself in the shower stall and snatched his robe from where it hung just outside the door, donning it and tying it around himself before exiting. Whether or not someone had entered the bath or not didn't matter to him. He was taking no chances.

It was just his luck that Draco Malfoy entered as he was brushing his teeth. Harry gave him a side glance, then turned back to the mirror. He might not be able to see Malfoy, but he could feel his magic_. Just another bonus, curse... whatever... Of being who I am, I guess_. Though Harry didn't necessarily like the fact that he could sense an individual's magic without much effort, in Malfoy's case he found that he didn't mind. As before, he could feel that the other man's magic was not only powerful, but clean. Crisp. Quite unlike his own magic.

"Thank you, for... You know." Malfoy said with a wave of his hand, motioning towards his snake pin that was pinned to his pajamas at the moment. The blonde look anxious, and a little uncomfortable, but Harry didn't care that much. Harry spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth before replying.

"Don't worry about it. I simply did what I wanted."

"But... Why? Why did you want to?" Draco asked, probing for more. Harry turned to face him fully, cocking his head. As if Draco was a unique puzzle.

_I wonder why he is bothering to talk to me_. Harry wondered, and let out a small sigh.

"I do what I want, it is as simple as that. Don't read into it, Mister Malfoy." Harry's voice was cold, but not menacing. The message was clear. Don't question me.

Malfoy stared at Harry, not quite sure what to say. Since when did Harry become... This? He tried to analyze the dark-haired man. Trying (and failing) to not get distracted by how his long, wet hair fell down his back, or how Harry's robe barely hid away the Adonis body beneath – Harry certainly wasn’t small and scrawny anymore, even if he was still the shorter one of them both. But he did manage to look into Harry's eyes, and he found those emeralds held nothing but empty voids. No light, but no darkness. Just... Nothing. And this scared Draco, because Draco knew those eyes.

He had those eyes, once. During sixth year, all the way until the Battle of Hogwarts. Those are the eyes of someone who was lost. Of someone who knows there is no escape, and there is no hope.

But why did The Harry Potter have such eyes? Even with the rumors... Harry had survived and rumors before, and had not lost his spark. What was different this time?

* * *

The first day of class, was actually not filled with classes. Instead, the heads of each house were holding meetings with their students to ascertain their interests and goals, and to set up their time tables. The first years were split by their age groups, and the two groups would then meet with their head of house in their group. This was because the first years all took the same classes, but meeting with their head of house would help them understand the expectations they would be held to while in the school.

From third year and above, the professors met their students in pairs. It would have taken too long to meet them all individually, but more than two would have meant that each student would not receive the individual consideration they deserved. Additionally, the pairs helped those students who may be shyer speak up about themselves due to the comfort a classmate, and friend, could provide.

They started with the youngest first years in the morning, working their way up to the eighth-years in the evening. Snape was, as usual, methodical and precise with his students. But he also made sure they all knew he was there to guide and protect them, and that they could always turn to him for advice or assistance.

Draco and Harry were the last students that Snape had to meet with. Snape had assigned his meeting pairs – not wanting to deal with any potential tomfoolery between the students choosing their own partners and any antics it would result in during the actual meetings. Plus, there was the issue that was called Lord Harry Potter-Black. Not just anyone could be paired with him. Luckily, there was Draco. Who was oddly eager to be sitting with Potter-Black for their meeting… well maybe not so odd, now that Severus thought about it. Draco had always been obsessed with the black-haired boy, and his godson had confessed to him that he was gay this past summer. Severus would not dwell on Draco’s true motivations; his godson would come and explain himself eventually – he always did.

Draco was… interesting. To say the least. He had decided to grow his hair out like Lucius, but then turned around and was extremely adamant that he was not – in any way, shape, or form – his father. Draco was simply Draco. The rest of the world would just have to accept it. Yet Draco, so fierce and so unapologetically _himself_, still hid away his sexuality out of fear of what his parents would say and do. Though Snape was confident Narcissa – and even Lucius – would accept this aspect of their son, Draco had a lifetime of prejudice and typical pureblood bigotry burned into him. Even if being gay wouldn’t necessarily stop him from siring an heir, the poor boy was terrified that he would lose his family over it. So, he hid it, and had made Severus swear to keep it secret. Severus would never betray Draco’s trust like that. He loved Draco like a son, and all he wanted now was to see him safe and happy. He just hoped Draco would be able to face his parents and tell them the truth someday.

Speaking of the devil, Draco arrived first, sitting neatly into one of the black, leather arm chairs facing his desk in his office. “Good evening, Draco.” Snape said, his voice low and calm.

“Hello, Severus.” Draco returned with a smile. “How have the meetings been?”

“Tiring, but interesting. We’ve never done start-of-term meetings like this, but I believe it to be beneficial. Not only for the students, but for us professors as well.”

“I’m glad, then. Do you think it will continue beyond this year?”

“I hope so. I will be speaking to the Headmistress about it. If not, it will become a new Slytherin House… function.” Severus smiled ruefully. The Slytherins would benefit from meetings like this – no matter what the Headmistress decided. Draco smiled back.

“You always were invested in your house – despite outward appearances.” Draco teased. “But I am happy to see you being more open with your intentions and feelings.”

“It is a hard habit to break – concealing everything. I had to – in order to survive as a spy. Now that it is safe to be… myself… I still struggle with allowing it.”

Just then, the door opened and Harry strode in – pale but tall, his hair pulled up into a messy bun and his robes billowing behind him. He turned to look at Professor Snape.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Professor Snape, Mister Malfoy. I also couldn’t help but overhear - and I am glad to see that the ending of the war has done good things to both of you. Of everyone, you two deserve the peace and freedom you’ve earned.”

Both Snape and Draco watched silently as Harry closed the door and sat down. Snape eyed him critically. The boy was taller, stronger too, than he had been before. But he was pale, and clearly had more scars – judging by the way his lightening bolt one had grown and the new addition on his cheek. If Severus had to make an educated guess, Harry was probably hiding any number of scars beneath those full length, long-sleeved robes and trousers. The air around him was different as well – both Snape and Draco shivered with the sudden drop in temperature. But it was more than that. Severus could feel the magic that thrummed around Harry – as if he just had too much of it and could not keep it contained.

“Thank you, Potter-Black.” Professor Snape finally said after Harry had settled into his chair. “But we did not win the war, in the end. You did.” Harry snorted indignantly.

“I killed Voldemort. But I did not fight the war.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “It is people like you, Professor, who fought the actual war. Who allowed me to become what I needed to become and be where I needed to be to do what needed to be done. What I did amounts to nothing in comparison to the efforts and sacrifices of others.”

Draco stared in awe at the man sitting next to him. Here was the man, the wizard, the bloody fucking _Chosen One_ – and he proclaims his efforts were nothing, his sacrifices were nothing? What the hell? Was Harry so… disconnected… from the world that he genuinely thought that everyone else sacrificed more than him, simply because they had _more_ to lose at the time?

“Do you not think you sacrificed things as well?” Snape asked, interrupting Draco’s thoughts. Harry blinked slowly and stared for a second at the professor before responding.

“Of course, I sacrificed things. I sacrificed my seventh year at Hogwarts. I lived in a tent for nearly a year, scrounging the country for dangerous, dark artifacts. I risked my life. But when I compare my sacrifices to other people’s, they pale in the comparison. Such as you, sir – who literally spent your life being a double spy. You sacrificed your youth and prime for the war – think of all the missed opportunities. You lost the only person you loved. Mister Malfoy here had to _live with Lord Voldemort in his home_. He had to sacrifice his own safety, well-being and even his own morals to keep his family _safe_. So yes, I don’t think my efforts and sacrifice quite come to par. Not to mention I only lost one person in this war – and that was at the very beginning. But otherwise, I didn’t loose any loved ones this time.”

Snape stared at Harry, and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Has it not occurred to you that you did not lose loved ones in the war because _they were killed in the last one_. Or that you lost everyone close to you right after the war? What about the psychological damage of having the entire war effort resting on your ability to _sacrifice _yourself – or at least be willing to, in order for everyone else to live and to win the war?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry said, offering no further explanation. Draco wasn’t having it.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?!” Draco yelled. “This isn’t a cock-measuring contest, this is life. It was _war_. You were at the center of it for _years_. For your entire life. I will not accept that it _does not matter_.”

“Draco, language.” Snape chided before turning back to the oddly silent Harry Potter-Black. “But I agree with Draco on this one. It _does_ matter, whether you think so or not. You were still part of the war, and a lot of stress was placed on you before, during, and after it. Even now there are lasting effects. You cannot fool me into thinking you are not more damaged than you appear.”

Harry closed his eyes, and did not open them before he started replying. “It does not matter what you think, or what Mister Malfoy thinks, or what the world thinks. Even _if_ I am damaged, it does not matter. Not anymore. I don’t have to explain myself to either of you. I am here for an education, not therapy.” He opened his eyes at last, his emerald voids bearing down on Snape with an oppressive weight.

Snape wanted to hit the boy upside the head, but he knew that no matter what he said, Harry would not listen. Just as Draco did not listen in his sixth-year. He had thought he was done with young people having the eyes of dead men, but apparently not.

“Very well, then. Let us move on to the purpose of this meeting, shall we?” Professor Snape changed the subject, pulling out the files he needed on their previous classes and grades. “Now, Draco. Are you intending to keep the Newt-level core classes – Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts – as well as your electives of Arithmancy and Alchemy on top of your Head Boy Duties?”

“Of course. I also heard that Bill Weasley was hired to teach a Curses class? Is that true?”

“Yes, he will be teaching about curses, their counter curses, and how to break them. Are you interested in it?” Snape raised an eyebrow. Draco was practically as bad as Granger when it came to consuming knowledge.

“Oh yes, definitely. There are a lot of curses at the manor still, and cursed objects, that Father and I have not been able to break. I think this class would be most beneficial to me.” Draco’s eyes were gleaming with greed – greed for knowledge instead of the greed for wealth and power that Lucius once had.

“Very well, we can add it on. I doubt you will have any issues with the class or with him – he is one of the more level-headed Weasleys.” Snape made a few annotations to the parchment before addressing Harry.

“What about you, Potter-Black? Still insisting on Newt-Level Potions?” He sneered. Potter-Black had never been a good brewer – except under Slughorn. But _that_ was because of _his_ old textbook, not because of the boy’s own talent.

“Yes sir,” Harry replied. “I intend to take the fiveNewt-Level Core Courses, as well as the Curses class.”

“What about Divination and Care of Magical Creatures?” Snape asked, a little confused. It was well known that lazy students took Divination for an easy class, and Care of Magical Creatures for the same reason or because they liked Hagrid.

“Divination is worthless to me, and I honestly don’t feel like going near another prophecy again if I can help it. I am quite done with those. I took Care of Magical Creatures because I liked Hagrid and he was my friend and I wanted to support him. That doesn’t apply anymore.”

Snape eyed him, before notating on the parchment. “Very well. So only six courses?”

“Yes, six courses.” Harry confirmed, blandly. For whatever reason, Snape had a sinking feeling in his gut about Harry taking the Curses class. But there was nothing he could do about an unfounded hunch. 

“Then that concludes our meeting, gentlemen. Unless you have any questions?” Draco shook his head, and Harry just stood up to leave. “Have a good night.” He watched as Harry left, silent and stoic. He noticed that Draco was also watching Harry, but with a very concerned look on his face. “Let him go, Draco.” Severus said, quietly.

“I can’t.” Draco said, just as quiet. “Not after seeing his eyes. You know I can’t.” Severus closed his eyes, temporarily wishing that he hadn’t been Draco’s confidant over the last several years. The pieces finally slotted themselves together in his head. Harry was Draco’s Lily.

“You must. You cannot save him from himself, you know that. You will destroy yourself trying.” Snape stood up, walking around his desk and pulling his godson into a firm hug – something only Draco was privileged to experience.

“I… He…” Draco stuttered over his words, sobs catching in his throat. “He can’t die, I won’t allow it.” He finally choked out before burying his head into Severus’ robes. Severus held him, and closed his eyes – recalling what it was like to lose Lily, twice. First when their friendship fell apart, second when she was killed by Voldemort.

“The war is over, Draco. No one is going to kill him now.” He tried to reassure the blonde, but he knew Draco wasn’t talking about other people trying to kill Potter-Black. He was talking about those hopeless pits of nothingness that were Harry’s eyes.

“No, no one _else_ could kill him now, I reckon.” Draco mumbled. “And with his magic… I wonder if it will let him do it himself. I wonder if he has already tried.” Severus grimaced. He hadn’t wanted to think about Lily’s son trying to kill himself, but now the images wouldn’t stop.

If Severus had to make an educated guess, Harry had already tried. At least once, if not multiple times. And the only reason the man was still here, still living, was because his own magic would not let him die.

* * *

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing the next morning, and all the eighth-years were in attendance. Not one of them had opted out of the class this year. Draco sat with Greg towards the back, noting that Harry also sat in the back, but sat alone. Professor Lupin stood at the front of the class, eyeing most of the students with compassionate looks, even the Slytherins. But he paused on Harry, and his eyes grew dark and malevolent before he pulled his gaze away.

“Good morning, class!” Lupin said, joyfully enough. It seemed the werewolf was a morning person. Well, he practically had to be as a parent with a young child. The class murmured their greetings less brightly, and less coherent as at least half of them were still half asleep. This didn’t seem to bother Lupin, as he plowed on. “I tend to take a more… practical approach, as many of you might remember from your third year. Now, I know many of you are more advanced than your age suggests – due to the war. But we have to start somewhere, and not all of you were given equal opportunity to learn some of these spells.” He once again looked over at the Slytherins, no doubt meaning that none of them were members of Dumblerdore’s Army in their fifth-year.

“As such, I think we should start with learning the Patronus charm. Now, I know many of you have already mastered this, so I ask you to help teach the others. But first, a demonstration!” He once against gazed over the class before stopping on Harry.

“Alright, Harry if– “ Lupin started before he was interrupted _by _Harry.

“Lord Potter-Black, Professor Lupin.” Harry corrected. “Secondly, I refuse to demonstrate.” Lupin’s eyes grew dark again, and his mouth formed a thin line.

“_Lord Potter-Black_,” he grinded out. “I don’t understand why your refuse a demonstration. I taught you this charm myself back in your third year. Now come up here and show the class your patronus.” Hermione and Ron sneered at Harry, as did most of the other Gryffindors – minus Neville. Neville never sneered at anyone, but even he looked less than pleased by Harry’s mere presence.

“No.” Harry declined again, sitting firm and upright in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m afraid this isn’t up for debate. Now, please come to the front of the class, draw your wand, and cast your patronus.” Harry closed his eyes, as if containing something particularly painful. But he stood up and walked up to the front of the class, staring straight at Professor Lupin the whole time. Once there, he turned to face the class, but did not draw his wand.

“Your wand, please. You will need it to cast the charm.”

“I do not have a wand.” Harry said simply, as if it was no surprise or shock that he was a full-grown wizard walking around without a wand.

“What do you mean you have no want?” Lupin asked, frowning.

“It broke.”

“When?”

“Shortly after the war.” The class let out a collective gasp. The wizard standing in front of them, the very man who _killed_ Lord Voldemort and ended the war, hadn’t had a wand for over a year.

“Why didn’t you replace it, then?” Lupin asked, outraged at the boy’s ignorance and defiance. Harry turned to him, his eyes growing slightly dark himself.

“I didn’t need to.” With that, he lifted his right hand – what had been his wand hand – and cupped the air, as if he was holding something up. “Lumos.” He whispered, and light filled his palm. Wandless magic. Ridiculously fast and effortless wandless magic. The class stood still, not able to move. Suddenly, without a sound, the light went out.

Wandless, wordless magic.

He hadn’t said the spell, didn’t utter the word ‘Nox’ to end the Lumos spell. Lupin took a few moments to recover from the shock, before clearing his throat. “No need to show off, now. Let us see your patronus.” Harry, once again, gave Lupin a dark look.

“No.”

“Again, not up for debate. Now, if you would cast the spell out loud, for those unfamiliar with it, please.” Lupin’s voice was cold, hard, and filled with barely contained anger. Harry just sighed, as if resigned with his task – even though it was a spell he was well known for.

“Expecto Patronum!” He yelled, not moving his hand from its position where he had held the light.

Nothing happened.

Not even a whisper of light.

Definitely not a stag.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lupin asked, bewildered. He _knew_ the boy could cast the charm successfully – hell his patronus had been one of the most impressive he had ever seen. Harry lowered his hand with yet another sigh.

“My apologies, Professor Lupin, I should have been clearer. When I said I refused, I should have said I _couldn’t_.” He paused, closing his eyes – again, like he was holding something back. “I can no longer cast the patronus charm.” He said, his voice soft and full of regret.

Draco’s jaw dropped. The Golden Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, Champion of the Light, Defeater of Voldemort, War Hero… could no longer cast a patronus. Could no longer cast a charm that was heralded as light magic, that no dark wizard could cast.

Harry could not cast it. The rest of the world would see this as confirmation that Harry _was_ a dark wizard now, and had indeed abandoned the ways of the Light. Draco thought it had more to do with his lifeless eyes.

Lupin was clearly of the first variety, as he sneered down at Harry. “Never before has a wizard lost their ability to cast the patronus charm. Only some wizards, dark ones, are unable to perform it in the first place. My, how you have fallen.” Harry rolled his eyes at the statement, not bothering to maintain the aura of respect, now that Lupin was openly ridiculing him.

“I think it has less to do with being dark, and more with the fact that the Patronus Charm requires happy thoughts and memories, and in order to feel those kinds of thoughts and memories, you need to be able to feel happiness.” Harry retorted as he met Lupin’s brown eyes with his own green voids, but the professor did not yield.

“Get out of my class, Lord Potter-Black. You are not welcome here. You may sit for the exams at the end of the year, but I do not allow dark wizards in my classroom.” Harry didn’t argue, he just closed his eyes once more and let out a sigh.

Draco wondered what it was that Harry was burying deeper inside himself with every sigh and every time he closed his eyes. He watched as Harry left the class, only stopping to pick up his bags.

“Sorry about that, everyone.” Lupin chuckled. “But it feels a bit lighter in here now, doesn’t it?” The class all giggled at the comment – except the corner in the back, where the Slytherin’s all shared knowing glances with each other. Lupin didn’t notice.

“Now, Miss Granger. How about you demonstrate for us instead?” Like the stuck-up, brown-nosing, teacher’s pet she was, Granger jumped at the change to show off in front of her peers.

* * *

“Lupin kicked Harry out of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Draco said as he unceremoniously sank into the couch in Severus’ private quarters. His godfather had made sure Draco knew he was welcome anytime he needed to speak with Severus, or even if he just needed a quiet place to escape to.

“I heard – the other professors are all buzzing about it.” Severus wanted to groan. It had only been _half_ a day, and already Potter-Black had caused an uproar.

“It’s not his fault, Severus.” Draco chided, as if he could read his mind. Severus paused to check his Occlumency shields. No holes. Draco just knew him, as annoying as it was. 

“I know.” He sighed. “But it is concerning that he can no longer cast a patronus. Everyone knows that dark wizards can’t cast a patronus.”

“Did any one tell you what Harry said about that?”

“No… What did he say?”

“That it had less to do about being dark, and more about being able to feel happiness.” Draco paused, taking a deep breath. “He might as well have said he can’t cast a patronus because he can’t feel happiness, therefor he doesn’t have any happy thoughts or memories to power the charm.”

“I take it the Lupin did not care about that.” Severus concluded and Draco nodded silently. “And then, in true Gryffindor fashion, he thrust Harry out of his classroom.” Again, Draco merely nodded. “What an idiot. But I suppose I should have expected it. The question is if there is anything we can do about it.” He paused to think, but was unable to come up with anything that would help with Harry’s situation. There wasn’t an answer, not this time. There was no secretly guiding Harry, no long-kept secrets to reveal that would aide him.

“Just… Don’t be cruel to him.” Draco whispered from the couch. Severus started and stared at his godson. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean. You’ve never like him, and it showed. But… he doesn’t need that on top of everything else… on top of everyone else and the way they treat him. You know better now. You are also allowed to show compassion now that the war is over.” Draco turned his face away, his pale cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment.

“I… I know I haven’t treated him fairly in the past. I let my own hatred and anger towards his father blind me to the boy in front of me. I promise I won’t do that again. I will give Harry a fair chance, and I will treat him with the respect and consideration he _actually_ deserves, not what I previous thought he did.”

“Thank you.” Draco said softly. “Do you mind if I nap here until my next class? DADA was harder than I expected, and I would like to be able to concentrate for Arithmancy.” Snape nodded, and Draco smiled before stretching out on the couch – quickly falling into a light slumber.

Severus sat back in his own chair, pressing his finger-tips together in concentration. _If only Albus was still alive. Then maybe we could have saved Harry from the aftermath of the war._ He sighed. Albus was dead, there was no point in contemplating what-ifs. What he needed to do was figure out what was going on with Harry, and what had happened to him since the war ended. Everyone knew he broke up with Ginny Weasley only a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, and then he attended the trials of the death eaters – notably defending Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco and preventing their convictions and imprisonments in Azkaban. Then he had simply disappeared. Those who had been in the Order of the Phoenix, himself included, knew Harry had taken up residence the 12 Grimmauld Place, but the stubborn idiot had changed the wards. No one could get into the house, not even any owls could get through, and the Floo had been shut off.

Snape had only managed to send Harry his Hogwarts Letter for this year because he saw Kreacher in Knockturn Alley buying potions (specifically Dreamless Sleep) and had asked the elf to deliver the letter. Even then, there had been no response as to whether or not he would attend, and no one knew he had return to Hogwarts until the Sorting Ceremony two days ago.

He had seen Kreacher around the castle the last couple of days, as it seemed Kreacher was making sure Harry was fed and taken cared of. Even the castle house-elves no longer adored Harry, and he had overheard that they were refusing to send food up to him at the table Minerva had conjured for the Houseless boy. Kreacher was the reason the boy was eating his meals and had his potions. Severus shuddered at the thought of what would happen to Harry if Kreacher died or otherwise couldn’t (or wouldn’t) serve him properly.

Severus found himself sighing again. _I will do what I did before. I will keep tabs on Harry and try to help him once I know more about what is going on._


	3. The Animagus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transfiguration class takes place, and the owls deliver the Prophet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I forgot about Herbology last chapter! I have since gone back and edited it! But, just know both boys are taking Herbology on top of the other classes.

“Good morning, class.” McGonagall said primly as she stepped into the classroom. “I am pleased to see so many of you return for your final term. It takes strength to return to normalcy after such events that have taken place over the last several years.” Her heels clicked on the stone floor until she stopped at the head of the calls and turned around. “Even though I am now headmistress, I felt it would be best if I continues to instruct both the seventh and eighth year students, as it is your final term and I do not wish to interrupt your success by introduction a new teacher to you at such a crucial time.”

_More like you Gryffindor pride didn’t want to let the success of some of the most brilliant witches and wizards of recent history to go to someone else._ Draco though, and knew he wasn’t wrong when he saw the greedy glint in the Headmistress’ eyes – especially when looking at Hermione. Unlike Lupin, Minerva did not glare at Harry. She simply passed over him as if he did not exist. Draco wished the world would stop doing that, yoyo-ing between insane idolization, complete loathing, and indifference when it came to Harry.

“I have decided to introduce you eighth-year students to a particularly advanced subject of Transfiguration, in order to provide you the knowledge and opportunity to try and become Animagi. It will be the primary focus of this year, as mastery of this shows mastery in all of Transfiguration. We will, of course, still go over many other subjects as well.” The class erupted into excited chatter on the announcement, all of the students wondering what kind of animal they would become. The Headmistress allowed it for a minute before calling their attention again. “Today, a Ministry official is here to go over Animagus laws and regulations, as well as the registration process.” She waved her wand at the door and it opened, revealing a short, thin, middle-aged woman with brown hair and hazel eyes. She walked in with a smile on her face as McGonagall introduced her. “Everyone, please welcome Mrs. Teak.”

The class (minus Harry), warmly welcomed the witch, some even asking about her work at the Ministry as she passed by. Harry remained silent, but was clearly paying attention. “It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” She said, her eyes exuding nothing but warmth – until they passed over Harry. Those hazel eyes hardened, but she said nothing and her gaze moved on. “I will be going over the law regarding Animagi, the reason for registration, and the process on becoming a registered Animagus. Now, on the slight chance any of you are already Animagi – you will not be punished for registering late. The Ministry acknowledges why many would have secretly become Animagi during the war.” Harry shifted slightly in his seat, the only movement the boy had made since sitting down at his desk, but otherwise kept his attention on Mrs. Teak.

_I wonder if Harry is already and Animagus – or on his way to becoming one. Why not? Both his father and godfather were unregistered Animagi, according to Severus. Maybe he’s worried if this one-time exception to the registration rules will apply to him._ Draco stared ahead, masking his curiosity. But he was really curious about it now. What kind of animal would Harry’s Animagus be?

Teak went on and on in a lengthy lecture about why it was important for Animagi to be registered. She even went so far as to use Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban as an example of the danger and unregistered Animagus could be. The witch didn’t seem to notice how Harry’s usually unnervingly empty gaze flashed with rage, not how he grinded his teeth and his muscles. Draco was waiting for someone to point out that Black had been proven innocent, posthumously, and that his escape from hell-hole in the ocean gave the poor man a few years of freedom to live (and love Harry) before his untimely death.

No one did. Not Granger. Not Weasley. Not even Longbottom or anyone else who had _personally_ known Sirius Black. Not even Minerva McGonagall. Draco looked to Harry, but the man had his eyes closed, and was taking deep, calming breaths. _He’s burying more of himself again._ Draco stared at teak, narrowed his eyes, and raised his hand.

“Yes, Mister Malfoy?” Teak asked, surprised at the sudden interruption in her monologue. “Do you have a question?” Draco repressed his sneer, and instead channeled his inner “pureblooded Malfoy” and flashed her a blinding smile.

“No, not a question, Ma’am.” He said, the epitome of polite socialite schoolboy. “But I am a little disconcerted that you are using my cousin, Sirius Black, as an example for this… as if he was nothing but a criminal. Considering he was found to have been wrongly imprisoned due to lack of a proper trial and due process by the Ministry.” He dropped his grin, as his voice turned into a slick venom, ensnaring his victim slowly. Teak had tried to interrupt him, but he did not allow her to. “I would also consider it _incredibly_ inconsiderate and unprofessional of you to insinuate he _was_ a criminal, or to speak ill of the deceased. Especially since Black gave up his ancestral home to the Order of the Phoenix to use as headquarters, and helped to fight in _several_ battles, including the one he died in. He actively fought in the war against Voldemort, and you _dare_ to drag his name through the mud?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “He has family in this room, a cousin and a godson, and I would advise you not to forget that.”

Teak swallowed thickly, composing herself from the verbal whipping the Malfoy heir had given her. “My apologies, Mister Malfoy. I did not – I did not mean any disrespect to you.”

“To me, of course. But what about to Lord Harry Potter-Black, Sirius Black’s heir and godson? Did you mean to disrespect him?” Draco challenged her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry watching him with interest. As if he couldn’t figure out why Draco was doing this. _Of course, I never showed any care for my cousin before. But I had never known him. Mother has… opened up more about her family since the war. I understand better now._

Teak glared at Draco, then at Harry. “No, of course not. My apologies, Mister Potter-Black.”

“_Lord_ Potter-Black.” Draco corrected, noting that Harry smirked at that.

“Yes. _Lord_ Potter-Black. Please accept my apologies for my rude comments.” Harry stared at the witch, as if trying to decide if accepting her apology was worth it or not. The tension in the room was nearly unbearable, as everyone waited with baited breath for his reply. Even McGonagall knew better than to interrupt. A formal apology in the wizarding world was a _very_ important thing, as was the acceptance or denial of it. Harry closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again and speaking parseltongue.

** _I accept your apology._ **

The witch balked at the hissing sounds, and Draco wanted to laugh. Of course, no one in the classroom could understand Harry, so the snake-words only increased the tension. Teak looked a little pale, as if she was worried that Harry had declined her apology – and what that would mean. Harry broke the tension shortly after, though.

“I accept your apology.” He said in English this time, his voice low, quiet, but powerful. Teak gulped.

“Thank you for your benevolence.” She recited the formal words required to prevent any magical backlash against her for the insult to Harry. “I must ask, though. Why did you reply in parseltongue first?” Harry’s eyes flashed with something akin to wickedness, and the corner of his mouth tilted ever so slightly into a smirk.

“Formal wizarding apologies are binding magic at the basest of levels. Parseltongue provides the strongest binding – it will never break.” Harry informed her, and again Teak looked pale. Draco sniggered to himself. _Harry keeps getting more interesting. He’s essentially trapped her so she can never insult him or dishonor Black like this ever again. I bet he learned about the parseltongue bit in the libraries of 12 Grimmauld Place._

“O-oh.” The Ministry witch stammered and then suddenly the Headmistress was swooping down on Harry.

“Harry James Potter!” She trilled. “You have no right to bind her indefinitely like that! You will undo it!” McGonagall’s face had turned a bit red as she tried to make Harry yield to her.

“Lord Harry James Potter-Black, Headmistress.” Harry replied, his eyes meeting hers. But once again, his eyes had returned to their normal vacantness, and the slight grin he had held in his lips was long gone. She purses her lips at him.

“We are not arguing about titles and names right now. We are discussing how you just _permanently_ binded someone to you via parseltongue. Undo it. Now.” Draco stared at the older witch, a little flabbergasted that the Headmistress seemed unaware of the laws that did, and did not, apply here.

“With all due respect, Ma’am.” Draco interjected before she could start screaming again. “What he did was perfectly legal, and should have been expected by Mrs. Teak when she started insulting his godfather and then issued a formal apology. It is not his fault she did not take consideration for her actions. He simply acted as the head of his household, a lord, and a proper wizard. You cannot make him undo the bind.” Minerva shot a glare towards him, then looked at Mrs. Teak. The smaller woman nodded, confirming that what Draco said was indeed true.

“I cannot believe you,” the Headmistress turned back to Harry, bearing down on him with disappointed, angry eyes. “That the son of two of my favorite students would do such a thing so easily, so readily. I once thought you could have been one of the strongest, most pure wizards the world would have ever known. Clearly I was wrong.” She was turning away to stalk her way back to the front of the class when Harry spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“The world taught me to leave no holes in my defenses, especially with the Ministry. Excuse me if I must do things you would not think of or condone in order to protect what I have left of myself.” Minerva pretended not to hear him, as did most of the class. Draco on the other hand, and the rest of the Slytherins, shivered with recognition of those words. _We must protect what we have left_. It was something they all knew, something their parents had told them. _People think Slytherins are dark, that we are not worth the air we breathe. While they grow and celebrate life, we must build our walls. We must protect what little we have left, before the rest of the world tries to take that, too._

Draco saw Minerva whispering with Mrs. Teak, probably encouraging her to leave if she wanted to, but the woman stayed. The Headmistress cleared her throat. “Now, if any of you are Animagi already, or think you might be close, please speak up now.” Draco turned to look at Harry, waiting with baited breath. He was not disappointed. Harry stood and cleared his throat.

“Absolutely not!” McGonagall shrieked, her face the epitome of disgust and disbelief. “Not you, no. Anyone but you, right now.” Harry shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you Headmistress, but I managed to become and Animagus without your aide. Without even Sirius to guide me.” Draco winced at that last bit, somehow feeling that Harry had once wanted to become and Animagus to get closer to his godfather.

“Minerva,” it was Mrs. Teak speaking now. “We must let him show us, after all we would prefer to have him registered than not.” The older witch nodded, but scowled at Harry.

“Very well. Come up here then, everyone else move the desks back.” They all did as they were told, and now everyone was waiting with anticipation, staring at Harry. Some with more awe than others, but all equally suspicious. “Any time now.” The Headmistress snapped at him.

Harry sighed and then closed his eyes. Then he started to change. He fell to all fours, his limbs elongating and his skin turned black and he sprouted large, leathery wings. The class finally stood still, some in fear and disgust, others in confusion when his transformation was complete. Draco blinked, trying to understand what he was seeing.

“Where did he go?” He heard one girl ask, and heard a few others murmuring the same thing.

“The bloody fucking hell is this?” That was Weasley.

Draco stared at the creature in front of him, finally understanding what he was seeing. Harry was an Animagus. And it was also clear why some of the students couldn’t see him, and why some could.

_Harry was a thestral_.

“Change back, Lord Potter-Black.” The Headmistress said coldly, her own disgust at the man’s Animagus form plain on her face. Harry shifted back, straightening out himself and his clothes before turning to look at the two witches proceeding over him.

“I will register your Animagus form, Lord Potter-Black. Confirmed as a thestral.” Teak said, and now those who had not been able to see Harry let out gasps of understanding.

“It is very concerning, this form of yours.” Minerva said as Harry was about to turn away. “And clearly, you do not need instruction on how to control it.” She paused and glared at him. “You may sit for the NEWTs, but you do not need to come to this class anymore. There is nothing for me to teach _you_.”

Harry nodded, and without comment he retrieved his bag and left the classroom. Draco wanted to scream! _He can do nothing right! Even when he excels at something, they all only see the bad! This is ridiculous._ He looked around, noticing that most of the other students were murmuring in agreement with the Headmistress’ assessment. Except for his own Slytherin’s, who wore subdued faces – masks hiding their own anger at the blatant mistreatment of a wizard based on assumptions of his character, rather than his own merit. Blaise met his look, and they shared an understanding.

They had to figure out what had happened with Harry.

* * *

The owls flew in that evening, dropping the latest issue of the Prophet. Draco watched as, surprisingly, and owl dropped one of to Harry where he sat isolated at his own table in the corner of the Great Hall. Draco turned to his own paper as the noise level rose, figuring it was probably because of whatever was in the paper.

**EX-GOLDEN BOY, A BABY KILLER AND A PROVEN DARK WIZARD – WHAT DOES HIS RETURN TO HOGWARTS MEAN?**

_By Rita Skeeter_

A concerned reader recently reached out to me, saying that their child had reported to them that Harry Potter – now known as Lord Harry James Potter-Black – had returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for his final and eighth year of schooling. Of course, I had to investigate this.

It turns out the rumor is true, but there is much, much more to this story than what meets the eye. First of all, it seems our ex-savior was ousted from Gryffindor House by the Sorting Hat, who decreed the boy to be Houseless – worthless and unworthy to any of the houses.

Additionally, it seems he can no longer cast a Patronus charm – providing us all the proof we need that he had truly become a dark wizard. I’ve received several letters from students that Potter-Black is exceedingly moody, and constantly exudes a dark aura. It appears many of them fear to be alone with him, scared he might hurt them.

But he is even more of a demon than we all realized. I managed to speak with Ginny Weasley, the ex-girl friend of our subject, in order to get to the bottom of their break up.

It turns out that Miss Weasley, the poor girl, had been infatuated with the boy but he was always so distant and cruel to her. She though she could save him, and did what any woman would do in her positions – she seduced him. But apparently things did not go as planned, as she fell pregnant with his child shortly after the war ended. When she told him, understandably scared but hopeful that the orphaned boy would be excited to have his own family, he turned away from her. He abandoned her, pregnant and scared.

She miscarried due to the emotional trauma. Then, he fled. Hiding away from those who had supported him all those years, loved him and helped him win the war. He fled, leaving their broken hearts laying like shattered porcelain, never turning back. Not once did he apologize, or try to beg for forgiveness.

No, the coward, he left and secluded himself in a house full of dark artifacts and knowledge. Never to be seen again, until now. At Hogwarts. And even she knows something is wrong. Even the Sorting Hat has rejected him.

Just what is Harry Potter-Black planning? And how do we know we are safe from him? A wizard so dark he _lost_ the ability to cast a Patronus, a man so evil he abandoned his pregnant girlfriend, killing his own child by causing her to miscarry. How do we know he not the next He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?

We don’t know.

* * *

Harry had left the Great Hall as soon as he saw the title on the front page of the paper. Of course, it was Rita Skeeter. And as he skimmed the article, he sighed. Closing his eyes once more as his heart threatened to pull him under with pain. He shoved the feeling down, until he felt the safe, welcoming emptiness that ate at his soul. Kreacher popped into the room, carrying a small tray of food.

“Master did not eat his dinner in the hall, so I brought it up for him.” The elderly house-elf said. “I also brought the dreamless sleep potion for tonight. Do you require anything else, Master Harry?” Harry shook his head.

“No, Kreacher. Thank you. I will call for you if I think of anything.” The elf bowed and then popped out of existence again. Harry picked at his food as he read the article more thoroughly this time. _Ginny has finally gone public, huh? Well, I did say that I wouldn’t say anything about what had happened. That it was on her to tell the story._

He barely ate any food before opening the potion vial and downing it in one gulp. _I’d like to pretend I’m dead tonight, and maybe it will come true for once._

He quickly dressed and fell into bed before the potion took effect, dragging him into sleep despite how he shivered from how _cold_ he was, or how his heart tried to remind him that _yes - he was still alive. Unfortunately._

The world was shattering around him, like a thousand million broken crystals. In each refraction of the light, he saw the faces of those who he had loved, those he had lost, all of which who hated him now. Even his deceased mother and father probably looked down at him in disgust now. Sirius too. Even the dead would scorn him, because he _was_ a freak. Unnatural. He was supposed to have died, but instead he lived. And now that he _wanted_ to die, he _couldn’t_.

“I died for you.”

_Oh, Cedric. Why did you have to come with me to the graveyard? Your death probably ended up saving me, but I wish I had died in your stead. I wish you had lived and I had died. _

“You should have stopped him from killing me, Harry.”

_I know_.

“_We_ died for you.” Harry turned to see his parents and Sirius standing there. “At least if you had died in the forest, we wouldn’t have to watch what you have become. A disgrace. You are no son of ours.” It was his father speaking, his mother just standing with heartbreak in her eyes. Sirius just turned away from him, ignoring, refusing to _see_ him.

_I know. I wish I had made the right choice then. But I didn’t and I’m only ruining myself and the world until I find a way to finally die properly. _

“My dear boy – “ Dumbledore.

_Fuck you. Get out. I know this is a dream, you fucking piece of shit manipulating old man. I AM THIS BECAUSE OF YOU. _

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, Harry.” Harry screamed at the old man, unintelligible curses and insults flying from his lips. Then, Harry jolted awake.

His magic was out of control, flashing around the room in a mixture of green, silver, and black lightning. It cracked against the walls and singed the door. And Harry was still screaming, feeling his magic ripping out of him, trying to tear him apart and put him back together.

_I want to die. I want to die. I want to die._

It was his mantra, his solace, his purpose to live. He lived to find a way to die. Because so far, he hadn’t been successful.

Kreacher was at his bedside, adeptly dodging wayward magic and flying limbs. “I’m sorry Master Harry, I’m sorry. But the dreamless sleep isn’t working very well anymore.” Harry clenched his teeth and turned to the house-elf, finally quieting his own screams even though his body still spasmed with magic and pain. The room was growing icy, frost seeping in through the wall.

“Its not… your fault. Was… bound to… happen.” He said between breaths. “But your… wards are… holding… well.” Kreacher nodded, and knowing his Master could not be solaced when in this condition, and that there was nothing he could do, even with his elvish magic, he disapparated. Leaving Harry to suffer the aftermath of his nightmares alone.

Harry started screaming again, letting his body do what it wanted. The pain felt… right in a way. Like it was his just punishment for deciding to live when he should have died. Punishment for being greedy and having the magic of three men when he was barely a man himself. It tore him apart, until he could not longer separate his body from the freezing hell that was his room. Until his magic attempted to pull him back together, but the pieces kept getting more and more disjointed each time.

_I want to die. I want to die. I want to die._

He repeated it over and over. His ultimate wish, his ultimate goal. Death. Silence. Maybe not peace, but at least there would be no more _him_. No more lives lost because of him. No more unhappiness left in his wake. He would be neither hero nor villain in death. Maybe, just maybe, for once… He would just be Harry.

That was all he had ever wanted, to just be Harry. He had been Freak for a long time. Then, The-Boy-Who-Lived. Then Slytherin’s heir. The Sirius Black’s godson. The Tri-Wizard Champion. Then he was The-Boy-Who-Lied. Then he was Undesirable Number One. Then, he was The Golden Boy. Now, he was The Next Dark Lord.

He just wanted to be Harry. But he knew he would only ever find that in death. So that is what he sought. Death.


	4. Dreamless Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has breakfast in the Great Hall following the latest Prophet article and then he heads to Potions class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has commented or given Kudos! I love you all and you are the reason I am able to write this in the first place! Keep in mind I run a twitter, @hobo_ing. I use it to post when I release new chapters on my works, for those of you who don’t check your emails. 😉

Harry had laid shaking and in pain until morning – unable to sleep with the combined effects of his nightmare and the failed Dreamless Sleep potion. When he rose, he found it was on trembling legs and with shaking hands. He felt cold, too cold. Harry was always cold, but this… this was _more_. It was as if his body was saying that his “normal” cold temperature was far too warm. He felt weak, and knew he could probably pass as a castle ghost with how pale he was. He also felt like the world was on a slight tilt and that his stomach didn’t really agree to that.

But Harry woke and got ready for the day, finding that the hot shower did nothing to warm him up, and that he was indeed as pale as he thought he was when he looked in the mirror. Luckily, he was able to shower and get ready without anyone else coming into the bathroom this time. He would take that one small victory, knowing what the day would become due to the article that was printed yesterday.

He walked into the Great Hall and took his seat at the small table in the corner by Slytherin that had been conjured for him. Unlike the other house tables – his remained empty – void of food and drink. He had figured out that the house-elves in the castle sided with the ideology that Harry was a dark wizard, and did not deserve their efforts. They would not send food to him. They refused to even let Kreacher grab food from the kitchens for him. No, the only thing they would allow was for Kreacher to _use_ the kitchen to cook. But the elderly house-elf had to take it upon himself to find the ingredients and put together every meal for his master while trying to navigate around hundreds of other house-elves.

So far, the loyal elf had not failed Harry. Not since the end of the war, really. Kreacher single-handedly kept Lord Harry James Potter-Black alive, and regardless of how Harry felt about his own life, he was still thankful to Kreacher. It was a testament to elf’s dedication to his master when the elf popped into the Great Hall, carrying a coffee pot, mug, and breakfast – alongside several potions. Harry was thanking Kreacher for his service and thoughtfulness – he had brought Harry a warming draught, anti-nausea draught, and a calming draught – when he heard a loud, shrill shriek from across the hall.

“How DARE you make that poor elf serve you!” It was Hermione. Of _course_ it was Hermione. He sighed, and whispered to Kreacher.

“Thank you, Kreacher. But you best get out of here before she gets her claws into you.” Kreacher bowed.

“Of course, Master. But if she harms you, it will be _me_ getting my claws into _her_.” With that, he disapparated with a loud _crack_ and Harry stifled a grin that threatened to escape. Kreacher was surprisingly sassy _and_ protective. Hermione stomped up to his table and slammed her hands down. Harry thought his morning coffee was more interesting.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER, LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU!” She screeched at him. _She really is channeling her inner Mrs. Weasley. Maybe that’s what Ron wanted? A second mother?_ He thought to himself, but was forced to dismiss it in favor of correcting her.

“My name, Miss Granger, is Lord Harry James Potter-Black. But Lord Harry Potter-Black or Lord Potter-Black will do as well.” He said, his voice smooth, calm, and void of emotion. He continued to pay more attention to his coffee than to the Head-Girl standing in front of him.

“You are disgusting representation of Wizarding-kind!” She informed him. He turned his gaze slowly upward, his empty emeralds meeting passionate brown eyes.

“And why is that, if I may ask?” He replied evenly. She scoffed.

“You are keeping that house-elf! Making him serve you! After everything with Dobby, you are treating Kreacher as a servant!” Harry set his coffee down at the table and pressed his hands together, eerily reminiscent of Severus Snape before he gave a good scolding.

“Miss Granger, Kreacher was given to me as part of my inheritance as the Black Family Heir. He did not wish to be dismissed, and I was in need of assistance in my home and life. He has provided it adequately, and I treat him well. I regret that other elves tend to mistreat him because of who his master _is_, but I cannot prevent that. I do what I can for him, what he will allow. But he a proud house-elf, and a keeper of old traditions.”

“You treat him as a slave!” She accused. “Making him serve you when there are freed elves in the kitchens who get _paid_ to cook for us and serve us? What, are you too good to eat the same food as us now?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I suggest you not talk about things you know nothing of.” He warned. “I also suggest you turn around and go back to your table, and to your Mister Weasley. He looks quite angry, from what I can see from here.”

“What is there to know, _Lord_ Potter-_Black_?” She sneered. He looked at her, sadness attempting to strangle him as he realized that this was Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of their Age. Hunter of Horcruxes. Part of the Golden Trio. Girlfriend to Ronald Weasley. His ex-best friend. He had confided in her, loved her like a sister. And here she was, berating him, accusing him, demeaning him. Where once he had found understanding, patience, and unconditional love, now stood loathing and disgust.

He sighed and closed his eyes, burying and snuffing out the sadness like he had done many times before. _There is no need for that anymore._ He reminded himself before opening his eyes once more.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, or to anyone else. Not anymore.” He stated loudly enough for the whole hall to hear him. He heard Ron shouting something from Gryffindor table, heard as a bench screeched with someone pushing on it roughly, heard as Ginny cried, as heavy footsteps came running at him.

He saw Ron coming, face flushed red and angry, a snarl on his face. “You fucking bastard!” The red-head yelled before he swung the first punch. Harry didn’t defend himself, didn’t stand up from the table. He just… let it happen. If this is what they needed, they could take it.

“How-“ _punch _“-fucking-“ _punch_ “-dare-“ _punch_ “-you!” _punch_. For the first few blows, no one moved – other than Ron punching Harry, of course. Then Hermione started pulling on Ron.

“He’s not worth it! He isn’t Harry anymore, Ron!” She pleaded with the red-head. But he kept swinging.

“First you know up my sister and leave her, and then you fucking defend death-eater scum, then you fucking disappear into that mangy, dirty house Sirius gave you – practicing who knows what magic! The you dare to come back here and act like you are better than us? FUCK YOU HARRY!” Ron bellowed, and finally someone got the red-head away from him. Harry was sprawled on the floor, on his back, he hadn’t even bothered to try and curl up and defend any part of his body.

“Lord Harry Potter-Black.” Harry corrected between breaths, tasting blood in his mouth. He heard Ron bellow again, but apparently whoever had him wasn’t letting him go. Harry sighed, closing his eyes as he heard the murmurs and rustling around him as they pulled Ron away. It seemed no one was concerned for him, until he felt someone standing over him. Their magic was… _interesting_. It felt like one was reading a book upside down and backwards. He opened his eyes.

Luna Lovegood.

“Hello, Miss Lovegood.” He greeted from the floor, mouth still full of blood, his body cold and sore. She frowned.

“Not even the nargles and wrackspurts want to mess with you, anymore.” She said in her ever-dreamy voice.

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“Bad. Very Bad.” She said, and frowned deeper. “I don’t know who you are anymore, and I don’t think I want to.” With that, she stood up and walked to the Gryffindor table, where she went and sat next to Ginny Weasley. Harry closed his eyes. _Another lost person is nothing once you lost everyone else._

“Potter-Black.” Harry cracked open one eye, and was greeted with the stern face of Severus Snape.

“Ah, good morning Professor Snape.” Harry greeted, unmoving from the floor.

“Are you intending to lay there all day?”

“Perhaps, but then I would miss potions class.”

“The world would mourn your absence from my class.”

“I doubt anyone would mourn me for anything, Professor.” Harry sighed and sat up, struggling with trembling arms and cold, sore muscles.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary, Potter-Black?” Severus asked, noting how Harry was now struggling to pull himself to his feet. He also recognized the three potions the house-elf had brought the boy. They still stood untouched, as did most of Harry’s breakfast.

“He looks fine to me.” Madam Pomfrey said, rushing by. “I have no need for brawling riff-raff in my hospital, anyways.” Severus scowled at her retreating frame. It was unlike Poppy to refuse patients like that. But he supposed there was nothing he could do about it. He turned back to Harry, who was now standing – and swaying – on his feet.

“Eat your breakfast and take those potions.” He commanded. “I will see you in class, Potter-Black.” Then he whisked away, robes billowing behind him.

“Yessir,” Harry said before falling back into his seat. He quickly chugged the three potions and then picked at his food. He was well-aware of the eyes that were on him, from every direction. But he paid them no mind. _I should get used to it_._ As long as I live, this is what it will be like_. He told himself, forcing food down his throat.

“Mister- I mean _Lord_ Potter-Black,” McGonagall said as she approached him. She looked unhappy, though Harry felt it wasn’t because he was hurt. Harry turned his attention to the headmistress, trying to ignore all the pain that was now blossoming in his head, shoulders, and stomach. She cleared her throat. “I am legally required to ask if you wish to press charges against Ronald Weasley for assaulting you.” She said, staring down at him with those ever-disappointed eyes. _Ahh, so she’s mad that she can’t ask Ron the same question since I very clearly did not fight back._

“No,” he said, even if the thought was a _little_ tempting. But Ron had always been hot-headed, and even if everyone hated him, he didn’t hate them in return. “I don’t think it would result in anything productive or reasonable.” He watched her shoulders relax a little – a sign that she was relieved with his answer.

“At least you are still capable of _some_ reason.” She said tartly. “But please refrain from fighting in the future.” Her words were scalding as she turned away from him, probably going to follow wherever they took Ron. _I wonder if you are going to tell Ron the same thing._

Harry turned back to his meal, forcing himself to eat a good portion – lest he wanted Kreacher to come and berate him as well. It was difficult, since his lip was starting to swell where it had been split open. Kreacher did return to clear the table, and he eyed Harry with a somber look.

“Master Harry…” he started and then stopped when Harry sighed. Kreacher had learned to stop pressing his master when he sighed like that.

“it’s okay, Kreacher. It’ll heal on it own, in time.” Harry said before rising unsteadily to his feet. The potions _had_ helped, but after Ron’s beating, the world was no longer just tilting. It was spinning. “But I will go see Madam Pomfrey, if that makes you feel better.” The elderly elf nodded.

“Thank you, Master Harry. Please call me should you need anything.”

“I will, Kreacher. But you need your rest as well. Now go on, I’ll be fine.” Kreacher eyed his master once more, but nodded and popped away. Harry winced at the noise – it felt like the loud crack was ricocheting around in his skull. _I wonder if I have a concussion_. He thought as he half-stumbled, half-dragged himself out of the Great Hall.

Draco watched Harry leave, concerned for the other man. He certainly didn’t look well, and he would bet hundreds of galleons that there were numerus bruises under those robes. Draco wanted to get up and dash after him, to help him get to the infirmary. But he was held back by the firm grim of Blaise, who was giving him a stern look.

“You cannot risk to align yourself with him, right now.” Blaise murmured under his breath. “There is to much at stake, for both you and the rest of Slytherin.” Draco slumped into his seat, silently acquiescing. Blaise let him go, but patted him on the arm. “Be patient, Draco.” Draco snorted. Patience was certainly a virtue, just not one of his.

* * *

Harry felt like puking, or falling asleep for eternity. Perhaps both. It was pure will-power that kept him upright on his feet and kept his breakfast in his belly. He had one hand on the wall as he stumbled towards the hospital wing, steadying himself against the castle walls. He noted that each stone thrummed with ancient magic, but it all tried to run away from his touch – leaving him with an acute sense of abandonment and isolation he had never felt during his previous stays within Hogwarts. He stopped to close his eyes and sigh.

“Lord Potter-Black.” _Lupin._ Harry opened his eyes to find that the werewolf was not alone. Bill Weasley was with him.

“Hello, Professor Lupin, Professor Weasley.” Harry greeted them as politely as he could manage with the ringing in his ears and the aches in his body. Bill narrowed his eyes at Harry, his seething anger rolling off of him like waves in a hurricane. Violent and uncontrolled. _Anger really does run in their family_.

“Would you care to explain why you fought with Hermione and Ron?” Lupin asked, he had an eyebrow raised and his tone of voice was that of a father scolding a young child. Harry would have frowned at him, but it seemed he had a black eye forming and he found the motion to be rather painful.

“I believe it was Miss Granger who came over to me and started yelling, and it was Mr. Weasley who ran over and started beating on me.” Harry replied from where he was leaning against the wall. Bill practically growled at Harry, but Lupin held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Now, now.” The werewolf chided. “I think you _knew_ that Kreacher’s presence would upset Hermione – which combined with last night’s Prophet article – would most likely enrage Ron. I think you knew that and did it on purpose.” Harry remembered Lupin’s words from class. _Oh, how I have fallen_, he repeated to himself. He wanted to laugh at this ridiculous situation, but found that he couldn’t. Instead he closed his eyes and held back a sigh.

“What do you want from me, Professors?” Harry asked and opened his eyes. “It was not me screaming in the Great Hall. Nor did I fight back against Mr. Weasley. I am _trying_ to go see Madam Pomfrey, as I suspect I may have a concussion. I’m not pressing charges, nor am I going to seek revenge against him.” He paused and finally let out the sigh he had been holding in. “So, what do you want from me?” Bill continued to glare at him, while Lupin looked at him with a gaze mixed with anger, sadness, and regret.

“I had hoped for an explanation.” Lupin said, resigned. “But it is clear that you will not give us one. I merely wish to understand why you’ve changed so much. The boy that I knew wouldn’t have done all those things. He would not have abandoned Ginny like that. I wanted to know what happened to you.” Harry gave Lupin a long, hard look – ignoring Bill completely.

“For one, what happened with Ginny is for Ginny to tell – not me. Secondly, what happened to me?” He let out a harsh, cold bark of laughter and pushed himself off the wall to stand shakily on his own two feet.

“War, Professor. Fucking _WAR_ is what happened to me.” With that, Harry turned and returned to his slow trek towards the hospital wing – once again using the wall for support. Bill snarled and went the other way, stomping his way through the castle. Lupin’s eyes hardened as he watched Harry leave.

“You cannot run from everything, Lord Potter-Black.” He called. “And war does not excuse you from everything.” The werewolf waited a moment, but finally turned and left when Harry kept his slow and steady pace – giving no indication that he had heard the man’s words.

Harry did hear Lupin’s words, and they carved holes into him. Holes he ignored as he filled them with ice. War did not excuse him, no. But what about death? Did death excuse him?

Harry made it to the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey met him at the doors. “I thought I told you that I will have no riff-raff in my hospital?” She said sternly. “Plus, you are fine. Get to class.” She slammed the doors in his face and he heard the locks click into place.

“So much for being her most frequent patient.” He muttered to himself, turning towards the dungeons. He would still make it to Potions, even if he was slower than usual. Since he would get no medical help from Pomfrey, he focused on trying to analyze his injuries while making his way down to Snape’s classroom. _Split lip, black eye, bruises everywhere, possibly a concussion. The world is still spinning and I still feel like puking. I hope Snape doesn’t have anything particularly disgusting planned for today_.

* * *

Potions class was one of the smaller classes for the eighth-years. While Snape did not insist that everyone get an “O” on the OWL anymore, he was still a strict and fairly well-feared Professor. Even the Ravenclaws didn’t jump at the opportunity to take his Newt-Level course. The Slytherins were the only house who had all their eighth years in attendance.

The Gryffindors had Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Fay Dunbar. Hufflepuff only had Hannah Abbott and Ernie MacMillan. Ravenclaw brought in Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Padma Patil. Slytherin had Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and even Gregory Goyle. Then, there was Harry Potter-Black. As usual, they sat in pairs. Hermione and Ron, up front and center as usual. Fay sat with Hannah, Ernie with Michael. Terry and Padma paired up. Slytherin divided into their usual pairs, Millicent and Pansy, Tracey and Daphne, Greg and Theo, Draco and Blaise. Only Harry was alone, taking the table at the very back, in the corner.

Snape strode into the classroom, closing the door and walking to the front of the classroom – his robes billowing menacingly behind him. “I will not tolerate and pranks, tears, or incompetence in this class. If you think I will allow _adequate_ potions in this class, leave. Now.” He turned and paused for dramatic effect, his eyes tearing into every student equally before pausing on Greg, then Ron. “Last chance.” He warned, and when no one stood and left, he huffed indignantly. “We will see who returns after the holidays.” With a wave of his wand, the chalk started to write down the list of ingredients for the potion they were to make. He did not write the instructions on the board.

“First of all, no sharing work. You may share a table, but you will _not _work together. Today, you will identify and brew the correct potion based on the list of ingredients. You have the full four hours of class to brew the correct potion.” With that, he sat at his desk at the front of the room. Draco smirked. This was too easy. _Dreamless Sleep, and a strong brew at that._ He went and gathered his ingredients, noting that Harry seemed to understand which potion it was as well.

“Do you know what potion it is?” Draco asked Harry, taking the time to look the raven-haired man over for injuries. He noted his pale skin, shakiness, as well as his blooming black eye and split lip.

“I do.” Harry replied quietly as he went to reach for an ingredient. He hissed in pain as shot of pain ran through his shoulder. Draco rushed over to him.

“Here. Take the ingredients I’ve already gathered. No one will know.” He handed Harry all the ingredients for the potion and then ushered him out of the store room before anyone saw. Harry looked like he was about to say thank you when Hermione and Terry Boot entered. Draco turned away from the entrance and quickly re-gathered the required ingredients. The tricky part about Severus’ store room for his NEWT-Level class was that it _was not labeled_. Part of being proficient in potions was being able to recognize ingredients, according to the potions master. Luckily for Draco, he knew _exactly _how his godfather liked to organize his supplies, and said godfather had made sure Draco could identify most ingredients by the end of his fourth year.

The class moved quickly for Draco – while he was brewing. The potion only took about two hours to complete, and Draco was the first one two bring his perfectly brewed Dreamless Sleep to the Professor. Snape opened the stopper and sniffed his navy-blue concoction and nodded.

“Well done, Draco. Fifteen points to Slytherin for brewing the correct potion. Another fifteen for being the first one done.” Draco grinned.

“Thank you, Professor. I’ve had an excellent instructor.” Snape shooed him away with a wave of his hand and Draco knew better than to push his luck. He waltzed back to his desk, taking the time to check in on Harry. It looked like he was _just_ starting the brewing process, and Draco frowned. If Harry had recognized the potion right away, he should be almost done by now. Not just barely starting on it. He secretly watched Harry work for the next hour, ignoring the way Blaise was eyeing him.

Harry kept going back to the textbook, where the instructions for the potion were. Every step, he’d go back and stare at the page for at least five minutes. It was unusual. _If he is reading the instructions as he goes, then what did he do for the first two hours?_ Draco finally lost his patience and wandered over.

“No helping, Draco.” Severus chided from the front of the class, everyone turned to watch the blonde.

“I’m not going to help. I’m merely going to _watch_. For entertainment purposes.” Severus rolled his eyes but grunted his permission anyways. Everyone slowly turned back to their own potions, not willing to risk Snape’s wrath to watch Draco Malfoy watch Harry Potter-Black.

“What are you doing, Mister Malfoy?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes glued to step twenty-one of the instructions. _Twenty-one out of sixty-three. _Draco noted. _He’s never going to finish this on time. He only has an hour left._

“Watching. For entertainment. Like I said.” The blonde replied. _Watching you to figure out what is wrong._

Harry shrugged, but kept to his work. Draco did as he had promised, he simply watched Harry work. Watched as the man returned to the textbook for each step, laboring over each step for minutes as if he was reading paragraphs instead of one sentence. He saw as Harry traces the words slowly with his finger, guiding himself through the sentence under his breath.

_It’s his reading._ Draco finally realized. _All this time, its not that he’s been slow or dumb. It’s… it’s his reading. They don’t teach that at Hogwarts. They expect everyone to have decent reading comprehension skills by the time they get here, muffle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood. _The class ended, and Harry bottled up what he _had_ completed, and took it up to Snape. The potions master looked disdainfully at the flask.

“Is this all you can do, Potter-Black? I expect a fully completed Dreamless Sleep potion and an essay describing, _in detail_, all of its ingredients and why they work together to make this particular potion at this particular strength next Friday. Understood?” Snape asked in his harsh, mocking tone.

“Yes sir.” Harry replied, not meeting the Professor’s gaze for the first time in… well probably ever. Even as a boy he had been stupid, brave, and completely indignant towards Snape. But now…. Now he looked cowed. Ashamed. Severus bit back the questions he had, but that didn’t dampen his growing concern for the boy. The professor even felt a little guilty for how he had addressed Harry. But Harry was gone before he could change his mind about it. Draco sidled up to his desk, once the classroom was empty, giving Severus a stern look.

“I though I said not to be mean to him.”

“He didn’t finish his potion, Draco. I did what I would do to any other student.” Snape replied, gathering his papers and floating the students’ various potions to a shelf to be tested and graded more thoroughly later. Draco sighed, but didn’t have a retort for his godfather. “Anyways,” Snape said as he turned back around to face Draco. “You spent quite a bit of time observing him. Notice anything _interesting_?” Draco flushed, and Severus smirked.

“Not like that, no.” Draco said, pouting a little. “But I did notice _something_. Something a concerning, actually.”

“What do you mean concerning?” Snape asked and crossed his arms.

“It’s his reading, Severus. You know as well as I do that while he didn’t _finish_ the potion, what he had done was done correctly – almost perfectly.”

“And where are you going with this? How does this relate to his reading?”

“He kept reading and re-reading the instructions and ingredients list. And I saw a couple pages of notes about the potion and the steps to brew it. He took so long because he can’t read properly, Severus. Not because he doesn’t know how to brew. He follows the letters with his finger and has to sound out the words on his breath.” Draco explained. Severus sucked in a breath.

Petunia had always been cruel, to him. To Lily. He had heard from Albus how her and her husband weren’t the best of muggles, and their son was utterly disgusting. Even Hagrid had agreed with that. But they were keeping Harry _safe_. They were his family. Surely… surely they would have taken him to school and taught him to read?

But what if they hadn’t? If they didn’t teach him to read properly, what else did they not do for Harry?

What _did_ they do _to_ Harry?

Had Albus known?

Had Albus hid this from him, from everyone?

Did Albus lie about anything else?

“Severus?” Draco asked, concerned at his godfather’s sudden paleness and silent, far-away look. Severus snapped back into himself.

“I’m sorry, Draco. You were saying?” He took a deep breath, collecting himself.

“I was saying that I don’t think Harry’s muggle relatives ever taught him how to read properly. We need to find a way to help him.” Draco said, biting his lip with anxiety and worry.

“I agree. If its that bad, it is a wonder he passed any of the OWLs.” Severus said, but thinking back on it, up until this year, Harry had Hermione breathing down his neck about homework and studying. She was probably the reason he had managed so well in his classes. He was able to get her to explain things to him so he didn’t have to read. _Did he manage to hide it from Hermione and Ron? Did he let no one in, even as a young, naïve child?_

“Maybe I could convince him to let me help him?” Draco pondered out loud. Severus half listened to his god-son while making his own mental speculation about Harry. _The boy was broken even before he entered the wizarding world_. Severus realized. He saw the parallels between him and Harry now, and it made his heart pull heavily at his chest. _I would bet my entire potions stock that Harry has been abused by his relatives. The question is how far did they take it. What all did they do to him?_

“Well, since you’re clearly busy in your own brain, I’m going to leave.” Draco said, pouting again.

“Wait.” Severus commanded and Draco stopped moving towards the door. “Sorry, Draco. I was lost in thought.” Draco gave him a look, much like Lucius would have given him had he been there. “I made a realization about Potter-Black that I hadn’t considered before.”

“And that is?” Draco asked, a little snottily. Severus huffed in annoyance.

“He is more like me than I realized.” Again, Draco gave him an incredulous look. Severus sighed and leaned back onto his desk. “I know you father told you about my childhood.” Draco grew serious and nodded.

“He said your father, Tobias, abused you and your mother. Beat you and treated you poorly.” Severus nodded in confirmation.

“He did. And that made me a very secretive, private, bitter person. Potter-Black has probably been abused as well, now that I am looking at him more closely and with an objective light.” Draco closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath.

“How do you know?” he whispered.

“As the muggles say, it takes one to know one. But it is because of his behavior. His secretiveness. The fact that he never indicated to anyone, not even Granger and Weasley, that he struggles with his reading. He is hiding his abuse, much like I did. He doesn’t want anyone to know, is terrified for them to know even though he is now grown and doesn’t have to see his abusers again.” Severus paused. “I knew his aunt, Petunia, when we were children. She was bitter and jealous of Lily, and she was cruel to the two of us. I thought as an adult she would be better, seeing as she was a mother of her own child. I was wrong.”

“What do we do?” Draco asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

“We help him the best we can. Offer our assistance, but we can’t push him. He’ll just run away if we do.” Draco nodded. “One more thing before you go, Draco.”

“Yes, Severus?”

“Do you remember the effects of Dreamless Sleep addiction, and the effects on the body once the potion become ineffective?”

“Paleness of the skin, shakiness, a feeling of unending cold, weakness of the limbs, nausea, dizziness, and loss of appetite.”

“Very good, Draco. Who do we know that matches this?” Draco closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. His heart broke in two and tears started streaming down his eyes. Severus silently embraced him.

“Harry. Its Harry.”

“It is.”

“How-“ Draco started to ask but was cut off with his own choking sob.

“The potions that house-elf brought him this morning, and his condition over the last few days. He has been dependent on Dreamless Sleep for a long time. Even before that beating he took this morning, he didn’t look right.”

“That’s why you had us brew it?”

“Yes. I expected you to figure it out right away, but all Harry did was read the list once and he knew it. That confirmed it for me. That he knew the potion well enough to identify it by its ingredients.” Draco felt like he was free-falling. Harry was so hurt. So broken.

“What can we do to help him?”

“It is as I said. We offer our assistance, but we cannot force him. He has to take the final step on his own.”


	5. Sectumsempra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first Monday and Harry goes to Herbology and the newly created Curses class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry I have been AWOL! But here is a new chapter! Thank you for your patience!  
Also! I have a twitter! @Hobo_ing (https://twitter.com/Hobo_ing) I use it to notify when I post updates on my work. In the future, if there is enough activity, I may use is for polls to decide on future works.  
I also have a discord if you prefer that. Can’t promise I will reply to every message, but I will try! Discord username: Hobo_ing#8261

It was the weekend, and if Harry didn’t have an essay to write and a potion to brew, he would have chosen to stay in bed for as long as possible. But his assignments, and Kreacher, would not permit such a thing. Kreacher, however, did allow his master to wait until a little later in the morning to rise – which allowed most of the eighth-year students to disperse. Many to Hogsmeade, others to various parts of the castle. He did, eventually, get up and meander his way to the showers and then to the Great Hall. Kreacher served him his coffee, not tea, and a light breakfast.

Kreacher knew that Harry had a rough night – now that the Dreamless Sleep potions were no longer working. It seems that over a year of abuse of the potion had finally caught up with his master. Regardless, Kreacher dutifully checked in on Harry through out the night, making sure that the wards on his room were perfect.

Harry was _adamant_ that the wards be air-tight, not allowing even a _hint_ of magic or noise past their barriers. Kreacher understood, truly, but he was also concerned. Wizards who isolated themselves like his master did often ended up insane… or worse. Just look at the history of the Black family. One only needed to look at that absolutely crazy bunch of wizards and witches to understand that isolating one self from the world does not result in good things. Even Kreacher, as loyal to Walburga and Regulus as he was, understood this.

Kreacher knew that if only one person knew of his master’s nightmares, his struggles, then maybe he could be saved from the downward spiral he had been on since the end of the war. But Harry would not let anyone in. After things ended with Ginerva Weasley, the Boy-Who-Lived shuttered himself away into Grimmauld Place, changing the wards so that no one could get in. No Floo. No owls. Nothing. No one.

Kreacher had watched, alone, when his master finally received the full brunt of his wizarding inheritance at nineteen. Some received it at seventeen, like they did in the old days. But now, it was more popular to let a witch or wizard become an adult with free reign over their magic for two years before burdening them with _more_. Harry should have had another witch or wizard with him when his came. Someone who could have supported him, helped him understand, helped him come to grips with the pure amount of magical power he was saddled with. Because Harry didn’t just come into the Potter’s magical inheritance.

He came into the Black’s as well. With that, came a change in his status – and a requirement to change his name to Potter-Black in order to maintain _some_ control over the ancient magic of the House of Black.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. No. That night, that entire day, had been hell. For Harry. For Kreacher, who was desperate to keep his master’s temperature down and to keep him from dying. Because Harry James Potter, now Potter-Black, had been the person who killed the _last_ heir of Slytherin. But magic that belonged to Slytherin himself will not simply die, will not simply vanish from the world. No. It must go _somewhere_.

So, it went to Harry, by right of conquest. Because Harry had fought Lord Voldemort, had won, and had killed Tom Riddle – the last heir of Slytherin.

His master had already been abusing the use of Dreamless Sleep potions _before_ his magical inheritance. Afterwards, after being dumped with the magical inheritance of not _one_ ancient house, but _three_, it only got worse. Instead of one potion, Harry would take two or three in attempt to knock himself out until morning. To avoid the nightmares that triggered his magical explosions. But they weren’t effective all the time.

And now they didn’t work at all, and Harry hadn’t been in Hogwarts for even a week. So Kreacher did what he could. He made sure his master ate and bathed. Made sure he had potions for his nausea and pain. He couldn’t prevent the coldness that seeped into Harry’s bones, nor could he prevent the magical outbursts. He could not shield his master’s heart from the emotions that would cause him to lose control.

He watched as Harry sighed his way through the castle, stopping to close his eyes and recollect himself when _any_ emotion threatened to surface. He heard his master murmur under his breath that ‘_They weren’t necessary anymore’_. Even a simple walk to the library was a marathon for his master, who no doubt was accosted by the constant memories the castle served him.

The librarian turned him away, refusing to let him borrow books or to study within her sanctuary. Kreacher watched as Harry merely sighed, accepting his fate, and then turn and walk away. He watched as his master bottled away all emotion, shelving them to the dark crevices of his soul to prevent them leaking out.

To prevent any of his magic from leaking out. To prevent himself from blowing up. Because Kreacher knew, just as his Master Harry James Potter-Black knew.

Harry was a magical bomb. One slip-up, one out-burst, and Hogwarts could be blown off the map.

So Kreacher watched, and listened, and anguished. Because the people sensed the change in his master before his master had even come into his inheritance. They sensed his change from the war. Then Ginerva happened. And then it got worse. The wizarding world had a bad habit of pointing fingers and shifting blame and ostracizing anyone potentially scary, or out of the norm.

Kreacher knew this, and it pained him because they all cursed and tormented his master – unknowing what his master was hiding. What his master was doing to try and keep them all safe. _Still_. Harry was searching, constantly, for a way to end it. For a way to wipe himself off the face of the earth and take all that dangerous, magical power with him.

Harry _knew_ he was unstable. Kreacher knew it too. But Kreacher couldn’t kill his master. Even his master couldn’t kill himself. And his master had _tried_. But the magic within Harry had stopped every attempt. Hanging. Drowning. Falling. Cutting. Muggle Drugs. Suffocation. Muggle Weaponry. None of it worked. His magic cut the rope, filled his lungs with air, stopped him before he hit the ground, sealed his wounds before they bled, flushed the toxins from his system, blew the plastic bag to shreds, stopped the bullet.

So, Harry came to Hogwarts. To find a way to die, is what he told Kreacher. Since this was the place he had died the first time. Maybe he could find answers in the ancient castle. A castle built by Slytherin – a man whose magic Harry now housed. Maybe his master would find answers in the Forbidden Forest – where Lord Voldemort had killed him. Though no one really knew Harry had _died_, as his master did not tell anyone. Did not correct anyone when they assumed he deflected the curse – just as he had done as a baby.

But Harry had _died_ that night. Truly died. And then he had chosen to come back – at least that is what he told Kreacher. Said that he couldn’t leave the task undone, unsure if his fellow warriors of the light would be able to defeat Lord Voldemort without him. But his master said this with regret, and Kreacher knew that Harry James Potter-Black constantly wished he had chosen to _stay_ dead that night.

His master had told him all of this the night he broke his wand. It was shortly after the incident with the Weasley girl, and Harry was trying to cast a simple Lumos spell. Harry was still only seventeen, hadn’t even come into his magical inheritance, but he already had too much magic.

Harry cast the Lumos spell, and his phoenix-feathered wand (repaired by the Elder Wand before Harry destroyed it), disintegrated into ash. His master didn’t cry that night. He laughed. A cold, bitter laugh.

“Kreacher,” his master had said. “What happens to a wizard when they can’t use a wand anymore?”

“Depends, Master Harry.” Kreacher had replied.

“On what?”

“Whether it is because they had too much magic, or too little.”

“Ahh.” Harry had said, understanding. “I suppose in my case, it is too much magic.”

“I would agree, Master Harry.” Kreacher said as he swept up the ashen remains of his master’s wand.

“What do I do now, Kreacher?” Again, his master had barked out a bitter laugh.

“I suppose you must learn wandless magic in its entirety, Master Harry.” Harry continued to laugh as he walked towards the Black Family Library. It sent chills down the elderly house-elf’s spine. It was not the laugh of a man who thought it would be difficult to do. That it would be a well-fought challenge.

It was the laugh of a wizard who knew, beyond a doubt, that he _could_ master wandless magic in its entirety.

It was the laugh of a boy giving up on normalcy, on hope, on love, on life.

It was laugh of someone resigned to their fate.

* * *

Monday brought a different kind of hell for Harry. He had never particularly excelled in Herbology, but he had never been particularly _bad_ either.

But he didn’t even make it to the greenhouse before he was stopped. By Neville Longbottom, no less.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” He said, his voice still soft, but now firm and confident. Harry didn’t even bother to correct him on his title. He just obediently stopped and looked at the other man.

“Sorry for what, Mister Longbottom?” He asked, his voice smooth and low. Neville sighed.

“I can’t let you in the greenhouses. Professor Sprout’s orders.” The Gryffindor explained.

“May I ask why?”

“Temperature difference. You run too cold and it affects the area around you. You’ll kill the plants.” Neville explained, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.

“That is _your_ explanation, Mister Longbottom. And while it is most likely certainly true, I would also like to hear what Professor Sprout said. If I am going to be barred from a class, I want to know the real reason why.” Neville finally met his gaze and let out a nervous laugh. _Too_ nervous.

“You caught me, Harry. But are you really going to make me spell it out for you?” Harry closed and let out a sigh.

“No, I won’t make you say it out loud.” He confirmed. “But I though Professor Sprout was above rumors, above judging students based on what others said of them. It appears that I was wrong.” Neville grimaced, and took a step back. As if he _expected_ Harry to lash out. “Did she say if she would allow me to sit for the NEWT?” He asked instead.

“Oh-oh. Uhm. Yes. You can sit the test. Just… can’t come to class.” Neville said, quietly. Harry nodded.

“Thank you for passing on the message, Mister Longbottom. I’ll take my leave.” With that, Harry turned to leave – not as efficiently as usual due to the beating he took on Friday – but he still managed to get his robes to billow behind himself. Neville watched, tense and uncertain as the man he once knew as _friend_ made his way back to the castle. Only once Harry disappeared inside did he relax. Harry’s new, cold, and ominous aura finally gone.

Harry found himself in the halls, alone. Everyone was in class. He wasn’t allowed in the library, couldn’t filch food from the kitchens anymore, couldn’t ask Madam Pomfrey to heal him (he was still pretty sure he was concussed), and he didn’t know what to do. He had managed to finish his essay and complete the Dreamless Sleep brew for Professor Snape over the weekend… the whole weekend. But that didn’t matter, he had gotten it done.

He found himself wandering the dungeons, of all places. He never liked exploring down here before, it had been too cold. But now, it didn’t matter how cold something was – it couldn’t be colder than how he already felt. He took a certain solace in the dark, damp corridors. Much like his room in the eighth-year tower, the dungeons were lined with windowless, grey walls.

“Potter-Black, what are you doing down here?” Drawled one intimidating Potions Master as Harry rounded a corner and nearly ran into the older man. Harry lifted his gaze from the floor to meet the professor’s onyx eyes.

“Nothing, Professor Snape. Just wandering.” He answered honestly, earning him a raised brow from Snape.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Herbology with the other eighth years?”

“Not anymore, apparently.” Harry said, bitterly.

“What happened this time?” Snape asked, turning to walk toward his office. Harry followed him without prompting.

“Oh, nothing. Neville Longbottom stopped me before I got to the greenhouses, said I am ‘too cold’ to go in, that I’d kill the plants. Which, is true. But – “

“That was Mr. Longbottom’s reason, not Professor Sprout’s.” Snape finished for him as he opened his office door. “Take a seat, Potter-Black. Would you like some tea?” Harry snorted but sat in a chair near the hearth.

“I’ll take some strong tea unless you have coffee.” Severus nodded before disappearing through another door, only to return short with a tea tray.

“I apologize for the lack of coffee, but the tea is my own blend. Quite strong, if I do say so myself.” Severus set the tray down, pouring them both a cup before sitting in the chair across from Harry. “So, what _was_ Professor Sprout’s reasoning to oust you from her classes?”

“Same as everyone else.” Harry said, his voice tired and resigned. He took a sip of tea first, finding it to his liking, before continuing. “Not that Neville – Mr. Longbottom – said as much.”

“He wouldn’t.” Snape said, noting with a sense of pride that Harry was enjoying his tea. “Mr. Longbottom is entirely too kind to say cruel words unnecessarily – even to someone he may despise.” Harry closed his eyes and let out a small sigh to that statement and Severus narrowed his eyes, trying to get a read on the boy’s emotions. But it seemed that Potter-Black had improved his occlumency, as Severus couldn’t read anything beyond what the wizard showed on the surface.

“It is what it is, Professor.” Harry finally said. “I don’t blame him, or anyone else for what they think of me. I’ve changed, and they can tell.” He then set his now empty tea cup back onto the tray. “I didn’t come back to Hogwarts for friendship or acceptance, or anything silly like that. So, it doesn’t really matter. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean you have changed?” The professor prodded. “Beside coming out of the war alive and killing the Dark Lord?” He watched as Harry smiled bitterly, those emerald eyes dimming with pain and grief and _secrets_.

“It isn’t worth telling you, or anyone, Professor Snape.” The younger man said firmly. “Come June, it won’t matter at all.” He stood up and dusted off his robes. “Thank you for the tea, sir. But it is best I leave.”

“Potter-Black – “ Snape stood, trying to stop the young wizard, but Harry had already left – disappearing into the dungeons. “He moved _entirely_ too fast,” the potions master mumbled to himself before sitting back down and losing himself to his thoughts.

* * *

That evening, the eighth years found themselves in the newly-created Curses class, taught by one ex-curse-breaker Bill Weasley. The class was on the smaller side, most of the Ravenclaws opting to use Monday evenings for private study and revision, and the Hufflepuffs just generally not being interested. Of course, the Gryffindors were present in full force, but most surprisingly – so were the Slytherins.

“Welcome to Curses Class, everyone.” Bill said as he walked into the class room. “You all may call me Professor Weasley, wouldn’t want to get me mixed up with Ron – now would we?” he joked and Ron squeaked indignantly. He turned to face the room, the scars on his face had faded but were still prevalent. “Now, this class will focus on how to counter and break curses – but in order to counter and break curses you must first understand how curses work, and what their affects are. This means we will also be learning how to _cast_ curses. If this bothers you, I understand, but I ask that you remove yourself from the class by next week.”

A few people turned pale at that, but no one left. Bill grinned. “Good! Well then. To start, we are going to learn Sectumsempra and its counter curse.” Draco looked aghast at that statement, remembering _exactly_ how that spell worked.

“Professor, I don’t – I don’t think it wise to teach that curse to _anyone_, even in the name of education and teaching how to counter it.” Draco argued, not seeing Harry – who was learning back in his chair, his face resigned and eyes closed as if forcing away a horrible memory.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Bill turned to look at the blond Slytherin. “I understand your hesitation, as I have been told you have previously been on the receiving end of this curse – inside this very castle.” Draco swallowed dryly, but nodded. The Slytherins all gasped, as did some of the Gryffindors. “I have been given permission by the Ministry, the School Governing Board, and Headmistress McGonagall to teach this curse – how to cast it, how to block it, how to counter it, how to heal the wounds it inflects. Professor Snape, begrudgingly, provided me the details on all of this, since he is the creator of the spell. But even he recognized the importance of more people being _aware_ that this curse exists, and how to handle it.” When no one else argued, he nodded and wrote the spell down on the board, along with a short illustration of its wand movement.

“Now, what you need to know about this curse is that one, you have to _mean_ it. Like any curse that intends violent, bodily harm – you cannot cast it half-heartedly. You have to be motivated; you have to be hateful. You have to _want_ to hurt the other person. Secondly, it is affected by your wand movement. You must be precise, or you will miss your target. I know this because my own brother George had his ear cut off by this curse by Professor Snape – on accident, mind you – while trying to cut the hand off a death eater who was attacking my brother.” Ron winced and looked down, even as Bill’s own eyes were filled with sadness.

“But, back to the first point. Because you must _mean_ it, we cannot practice casting this curse on inanimate objects or mannequins. We could _try_ a boggart, but that instills more fear than hatred and would likely not work. So, we will have to practice on a live person. Luckily, we have _just_ the person.” His eyes glinted malevolently as they bored into Harry’s form, where the dark-haired wizard sat unmoving at the back of class.

Harry merely sighed before opening his eyes. “I assume everyone in Gryffindor hates me enough for this to work. And most of the Slytherins and the remaining Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.” He said, standing and walking towards Bill. “Very well. I’ll be your dummy.” Bill grinned and positioned Harry front and center of the class.

“Ron,” he called. “You first.” Ron rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck as he stood, wand already drawn. He swiftly came to stands a few paces away from his ex-best-friend.

“Sectumsempra!” The red head yelled, slashing his wand from shoulder to hip. The class watched – half in awe, half in horror – as Harry’s robes split from his right shoulder to left hip, followed by copious amount of blood pouring from the deep gash. Ron grinned triumphantly as Harry fell to his knees. The raven-haired man didn’t cry out, no tears fell from his eyes, he didn’t even try to grasp at the wound with his hands. The only sign he _was_ in pain, was his unfocused eyes and labored breathing… and the blood pooling around his knees.

“Very good, Ron.” Bill praised before turning to the Slytherins. “Draco, the counter incantation to heal – if you would.” Draco felt the world spinning around him, his focused narrowed down to the bleeding man in front of him. He didn’t remember kneeling down next to Harry, nor pulling out his wand.

“Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur.” He sang the incantation, like Severus had done for him back in sixth year. His voice was low and melodic, drawing in his classmates as Harry’s blood flowed back into him and the gash started to knit back together. “Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur.”

“How poetic.” Bill commented once Harry was healed and Draco’s incantation had stopped. Draco turned his head to look at the professor. “That you would be the one to heal the man who had cast the very same curse on you.” Again, there were gasps around the class. Draco stood, anger boiling through his veins.

”We were _children_!” He yelled. “Children fighting a _war_, Professor Weasley! What is your excuse for this?” He waved toward Harry, who was still very much awake as he remained kneeling on the floor. Bill opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t get the chance.

“Stop, Mr. Malfoy.” Said a soft, yet commanding voice from the very wizard he had just healed. Draco turned to look at him, tears pooling in his eyes.

“But-“

“No, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry said, stumbling to his feet. “I agreed to this, I intend to see it though. The more people who gain practice learning how to heal this curse, the better.” Draco closed his mouth, unable to argue. Bill grinned viciously.

“Well said, for a dark wizard, Lord Potter-Black.” Harry ignored the taunt.

“Lets just get on with it.” And they did. The Gryffindors took turns cursing him, while the Slytherins healed him. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who had initially stayed had slipped out of the classroom – unable to continue in such a blood-soaked and vicious environment. Harry never once fell completely to the floor – only to his knees. But his eyes were glassed over, as if he wasn’t really there anymore.

_“You’re a freak, boy. No one is going to love you, remember that!” Vernon yelled as he swung his belt at four-year old Harry again and again. “Remember that you deserve this! This is the best a freak like you is going to get!” _

_“It’s no wonder your parents were drunkards and drove themselves off the road.” Petunia stated as she raised the frying pan above her head. Harry had burnt the eggs for breakfast for Dudley’s fifth birthday. She brought the frying pan down on Harry’s head. When he woke, he was laying in a small pool of blood in his cupboard in the dark. _

_“Mummy and Daddy say he’s a freak with no name.” Dudley proudly announced to his new friends from school. “Daddy says I can do whatever I want to him.” The obese eight-year-old grinned before turning to his friends with an evil glint in his eye. “Let’s hunt him!” He ran, but didn’t get far. Being malnourished and beaten and bruised, Dudley and his gang quickly caught up to him. They pushed him to the ground, kicking and punching him relentlessly – only stopping when Petunia called Dudley in for dinner. _

_“Mum, I can’t do it!” Screamed Dudley as he tackled a math problem at the kitchen table. Petunia tutted over, quickly doing the problem for him before returning to the task of making dinner. Dudley grinned triumphantly before looked at the other boy – who was dusting the bannisters on the stairs. “What’s 64 divided by 8?” He taunted. The scrawny boy paused in his task to contemplate the question, not really understanding what 64 was, or what ‘divided by’ meant. Dudley laughed. “You’re not just a freak! But a stupid freak!” He jeered. It was then that Petunia noticed the scrawny boy had stopped cleaning. She marched over with a frying pan, and the scrawny boy woke the next morning in his cupboard with a throbbing head. _

_The scrawny raven-haired boy picked up the mail that fell through the slot in the door, he quickly sorted it between ‘Petunia Dursley’, ‘Vernon Dursley’, and ‘Mr. and Mrs. Dursley’. He paused on the last letter, noting that it was heavier than a standard envelope and the writing seemed a bit old fashioned. It read ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.’ Not that he could properly read most of it. Just the ‘Mr. H. Potter’ part. He felt – knew – the letter was his, but didn’t try to hide it. He brought the pile of mail to his uncle. “W-who is H. P-Potter?” he asked in a quiet, trembling voice. Instead of an answer, Vernon ripped the mail out of his hands and threw him into the cupboard. He sat there for days, listening as more letters came and Vernon grew angrier and angrier until finally, he was let out of the cupboard. Only to be dragged to a small island in the middle of the sea. _

_“W-Who is this ‘H-Harry P-Potter’?” The boy asked the giant man who had just knocked down the door. “And what is a wizard?” The giant man – Hagrid – turned to glare at the Dursleys where they cowered in the corner of the sea shack._

“Harry! Snap out of it!” A voice called to him, dragging him out of his haze.

“It’s…. L’rd H’rry P’tt’r-Bl’ck.” He slurred, barely recognizing the shock of blond hair in front of him. He slumped to the side, only to caught by another pair of hands.

“Bloody hell, Draco.” Blaise Zabini said as he held Harry up. “What the hell was that?! What kind of professor condones this? Look at him!”

“I know, Blaise! I know! Just… Help me get him up.” Draco said, holding Harry on his other side. They eventually got Harry on his feet and helped him out of the classroom. “Should we take him to the infirmary?”

“No.” This time, it was Pansy. “You saw how Pomfrey treated him after Weasel attacked him. She won’t treat him at all.” The three Slytherins paused in the hall, trying to decide what to do when they heard the loud crack of apparition.

“What happened to Master Harry?” croaked the elderly house-elf, almost causing Blaise and Draco to drop Harry.

“Kreacher?” Draco asked, remembering the house-elf from when he was a toddler.

“Master Draco.” The house elf greeted with a bow. “It is nice to see you again, but please tell me what has happened to Master Harry.”

“Sectumsempra.” Blaise said, since Draco was struggling with words. “Professor Weasley use Lord Potter-Black as a mannequin.” The house elf’s face turned dark and enraged.

“Are you able to take Harry to the dorms?” Draco asked, knowing the elf could apparate within the walls of the castle, unlike themselves.

“No.” Kreacher said. “I am unable to apparate Master Harry _anywhere_. His magic prevents it. But I can go get someone and bring them here.”

“Snape.” Pansy said. “Go get Professor Snape. Explain to him what state Harry is in and that he was hit, and healed, several time with Sectumsempra. He will know what is needed.” The elf nodded and disappeared with another crack. She turned to where the boys were struggling to keep Harry upright. “How about we lay him on the ground?” She suggested, conjuring a pillow for his head. Draco and Blaise gently laid him down.

“Just… lemme go…” Harry mumbled. He attempted to sit up but his arms wouldn’t move. “I’ll… be fine. Always fine. Just fine.”

“No, you are not fine!” Draco said, gently brushing Harry’s hair out of his face. “I know what _one_ Sectumsempra feels like. You’ve had more than a dozen. Be quiet and let us help you.”

“I’m s’rry.” Harry said, turning his glassy, dazed eyes towards the blonde. “For casting… Sectu-Sectumsem-Sectumsempra… on you. I didn’t know.”

“Shhh.” Draco shushed him, carding his hand through raven locks. “I know. Like I told Professor Weasley, we were children. And Severus explained later, where the curse came from, and why you didn’t know what it would do. It’s okay. I’ve long forgiven you.”

“Why?” Harry said, closing his eyes and leaning into the warmth that was Draco’s hand. It was the warmest thing he had felt in a long, long time. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.” Before Draco could argue with him about that, Kreacher popped back into existence with Severus on his arm.

“Draco, Blaise, hold him.” Severus said without preamble as he knelt next to Draco. “Open his mouth, Pansy.” She did as her professor instructed and Harry started trying to resist. “Stop it, Potter-Black. We’re here to help. It won’t be pleasant but it must be done.” He then poured a bright yellow potion into the wizard’s mouth, holding his hand over his mouth afterward, making sure he swallowed it down. Harry suddenly stopped struggling and went limp in Draco and Blaise’s arms.

“If a conjure a stretcher, can you two get him down to my quarters in the dungeon?” Snape asked his Slytherins, and they nodded. “Good. Pansy, I need you to go with Kreacher to Potter-Black’s quarters. I need to see _all_ of the potions he has taken since arriving at Hogwarts. Bring me the empty bottles and anything else noteworthy. I trust your judgement.” She nodded and with another pop, her and Kreacher disappeared.

They managed to get Harry onto a stretcher and down to the dungeons. Draco couldn’t help the way his heart pounded painfully in his chest every time his looked down at Harry. Harry who had clearly been stuck in a flashback while being repeatedly hit by Sectumsempra and subsequently healed over and over and over again. Harry who was pale and quiet with robes ripped to smithereens. Harry who willingly let himself be tortured, who said he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He couldn’t help his feelings. _You deserve happiness, Harry. Forgiveness and love too. Yes, you’ve changed, but you aren’t the monster you seem to think you are. _


	6. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an actual chapter, just an update!

Hey everyone! Posting this on 09/16/20 to let you all know that I am planning on continuing this fic. I know it has been since... well... fucking forever. I am sorry its taken me so long to get myself back together to try and find the motivation to write again. Its slow going with everything going on, but I really am trying. I've been dealing with COVID-19 induced isolation (I literally leave my house once a week to go grocery shopping) and dealing with a new, but not life threatening, long term medical diagnosis that I got at the beginning of the summer. Plus, my mental health has always been a bit... well... shitty. Heh. 

I won't lie to you on this, but this fic is more of my side project. My main one is Prince Omega, a 31 chapter, 150K word behemoth that is still ongoing. But, I am planning to work on both, but this one will not be the priority and will likely update less often. I don't plan on abandoning it though, I truly love this story and want to get it written down. Updates may be spotty for a while, but once I have a routine down, I will let you know when you can expect regular updates. 

I may also go back an perform updates on what is already posted. I have no beta, and I am the only one who reads this before it gets posted. I've noticed some errors and things that bother me, and I want to fix them. I will add notes to the bottom of the chapters to let you all know when they get edited. 

If you have a twitter, I have one for this account. It is [@Hobo_ing](https://twitter.com/Hobo_ing). I post when I update any chapters for my fics, and I plan to use it in the future for more interaction if it gets any activity on it. I've considered going back to Tumblr, but it has been years and isn't worth my mental health - I left for a reason. But I still love all the comments you guys leave behind here, its honestly feels like heaven when I read them. 

As always, I love you guys for all of your support and everything. It truly helps to know that you guys are out there and waiting to read this thing. Thank you for sticking with me. <3


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